Tomb Raiders
by The Manwell
Summary: Trowa Barton was an orphan raised by South African mercenaries. Duo Maxwell was the son of a British lord. Not only were these two teenage boys destined to fall in love, but they were destined to save the world. Tomb raider style. AU 2x3x2 YAOI Duo/Trowa
1. Hieroglyphs

**Warnings:** alternate universe fic, language, shounen ai, eventual yaoi (male/male sex), angst, eventual character death & reference to torture

**Promises:** no non-consensual or underage sex! none of the pilots will die! cross my heart...

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot._ Without permission.

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A note from Manny - This is the prologue or prequel to a novel-length Duo/Trowa Alternate Universe fic which was inspired by the movie "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider." And, just like in the movie, no actual tombs are raided. Heh.

Recommended theme music for "Hieroglyphs" - "The Tension and the Terror" by Straylight Run

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**Tomb Raiders: Hieroglyphs**

The boy was just as surprised to see me here as I was to see him. What were the odds that the archeological dig site my troupe had been hired to guard would be visited by someone who looked to be about _my_ age?

My hand tightened on the gun strap slung across my chest. He blinked large, dark blue eyes at me, examining my dusty camo fatigues, the hunting knife in my belt, the steel water canteen dangling from my hip, and the binoculars around my neck. Standard uniform for guarding sites from tomb raiders and grave robbers.

He wasn't wearing any gear similar to what I was. He was dressed in baggy, khaki cargo pants and a black T-shirt with a pair of big, red lips that smiled at the world from the center of his chest. I didn't know what the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" was, but I was morbidly curious if this oke was going to give it a run for its money. Probably not. He slipped and skidded in the sand. The canvas takkies he was wearing were no match for the constantly shifting dunes. I wondered if the _boykie_ was prone to seasickness.

The wind picked up, swirling around us. I waited for his judgment, but he only looked his fill, meeting my gaze with neither derision nor aggression. Unsettling.

"Come along now, Dominic!"

The boy startled in response to the affectionate and authoritative summons, whirling around, and I saw his braid roll with the wind like a whip as he dived for the hastily-laid wooden boardwalk and jogged after the man who had ridden shotgun in the Land Rover: Lord Maxwell. This was the first time I'd seen my employer. We'd been guarding the site for two months now, ever since some university professor out of Cairo had discovered this tomb and we'd been contacted to provide round-the-clock security. It did not surprise me that the man bankrolling this whole operation was clearly past middle age, distinguished and successful. He walked tall and straight, with purpose and drive to match his neatly trimmed, grey hair.

The kid surprised me, though. Graceful in the way dancers were graceful, with his long plait of thick, brown hair and wide, sparkling eyes. As if the world was a great joke he couldn't wait to share with everyone who happened to cross his path.

I sighed and turned away from the gaggle of archeologists and graduate students that were gathering around the pair as they headed deeper into the dig site.

Seeing someone around my age – someone who hadn't looked _through _me or dismissed me – should not have been all that interesting. How pathetic that it was the most noteworthy event of this entire job so far.

Nonetheless, I continued watching him even after he and Lord Maxwell had exchanged greetings with the head archeologist, Professor Merquise, so I knew exactly how many times he glanced over his shoulder and looked back at me. And with each time, his smile grew wider and wider.

I braced myself for the inevitable meeting.

It didn't come until nearly sunset. I finished my rounds for the day and the captain gestured me toward the makeshift armory. I collected a bottle of gun oil, a clean rag, and a tool kit and then I went to sit under one of the few emaciated trees. We'd set up a rickety card table and a bench. It wasn't the best of arrangements and the sand of the desert would get everywhere no matter how careful you were, but it was better than trying to field strip a weapon on the dust-covered floor of our tents.

I popped in my earphones and queued some music. Then I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and got started. I was deep in the meditative process of polishing each piece of the dismantled weapon when something fell on me.

I rolled off the bench and came up on my knees, knife in one hand and the other reaching for the pistol I kept concealed under my vest.

"Whoa, damn! Chill, man."

I glared. Somehow, the boy I'd seen earlier had scaled the tree without me sensing him and then had crawled out onto the lowest, thickest bough which stretched out above the card table. He was sprawled there like a jaguar, grinning ruefully as he tugged his braid up and tossed it onto his back. "The damn thing always gives me away," he offered.

"You're lucky I didn't slice it off."

"Eh. It's hair. It'd grow back."

He had a point. I put the knife away and glared at him a bit more.

He laid his head down on his pillowed arms and grinned. "Nice evening, huh?"

It had been until that python of his had dumped itself on my head. I righted the bench and sat back down, determined to get back to work.

"Whatcha listening to?" he asked after a minute of silence.

"Chopin."

"No way."

I offered up the right earphone to him. He wrapped his legs around the tree branch and reached down for it. The cord was long enough that he only had to duck his head a bit below the limb to fit it into his ear.

For a moment, we just looked at each other, the earphones tethering us together. "Well, damn. It sure sounds like Chopin."

As if Mr. Hot Lips T-shirt knew anything about classical music. I turned away.

"Nocturne. Opus nine, number two," he surprised me by saying. I looked up again and watched his eyelids drift shut as his mouth curved into a soft smile. "My mom used to play this."

"Why'd she quit?" I surprised myself by asking. I didn't care. I wasn't curious.

"She's dead."

I didn't apologize for it. It never made much sense to me that people apologized for mentioning bad stuff they'd had no way of knowing was bad in the first place.

"What's your name?" he asked me suddenly.

"Trowa," I answered.

"First or last?"

"First."

"So, what's the last? Or do I gotta arm wrestle ya for it?"

I almost smiled. "Tempting."

"Trowa Tempting?"

I snorted once, rolling my eyes up at him at the dorky joke. "Trowa Barton."

"I'm Duo." He stuck his hand down in my face for me to shake. My fingers smelled of oil and gunmetal, but Duo had to know that they would; he'd been watching me clean the rifle. I grasped his hand firmly, but didn't let go right away.

"Duo. First or last?" Turnabout was fair play.

He grinned, not the least bit concerned that I might pull him off his perch. "First."

"And the last?"

"Maxwell. Like you couldn't guess." He winked.

As he'd arrived at the site with Lord Maxwell, clearly a guest and most likely his son, it was a pretty safe assumption to have made. "I don't like guessing." I took my hand back and returned my attention to the dismantled firearm on the folding table.

"Do you like guns?" he probed, examining the rifle I was cleaning.

"Not really."

"But you use 'em."

"I have to."

For a moment, he just watched me work. "Often?" he asked quietly, with the kind of reverence I should have used to speak of his dead mother.

"Sometimes," I admitted.

"Man, my dad would _kill _me if I touched a gun."

My hands paused as a kernel of an idea nestled into my brain and began to sprout. I looked up at him and found the same forbidden thought twinkling in his dark eyes. It was a look that could turn the world on its end.

"It's not that hard," I began, feeling my mouth twist into a small, unfamiliar grin. "You could learn the basics in an hour or two."

His answering smile was pure mischief. "But who would I get to teach me?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "I know a guy."

I'd never had my breath stolen away by a smile before, let alone one offered by a gangly, long-haired, smart-mouthed and no-doubt-spoiled lord's son. "My dad's goin' into town with Professor Merquise tomorrow morning. Business stuff. I can probably get him to let me hang out here."

I leaned back on the bench, fitting the gnarly tree trunk between my shoulder blades. He tucked his chin down to keep me in his sights and his braid slithered over his shoulder again. It was almost long enough to brush the gun parts on the table. "Meet me behind the supply tent about an hour after he leaves."

Duo grinned, upside down. "Yes, sir."

He removed the earpiece and I held out my hand so he could drop it into my palm. I marveled at him as I put it back in my ear, surrounding myself with glissandos and chords. He stretched out on the branch above me, squirming trustingly onto his back, putting his hands behind his head and staring up at the darkening sky through the twisted, anemic limbs. His braid did not dangle down onto the table, but I wouldn't have minded if it had. He was a creature unlike any I'd ever met. There did not seem to be a single territorial or vicious bone in his body.

I glanced up at him as I worked and shook my head. He wasn't a jaguar. He was… something else.

Letting the music and the repetitive motions coax me into that place where time stops, I worked until the rifle was cleaned and reassembled upon the card table. I took a deep breath and pulled the earphones free as I looked up.

I frowned at the bare branch above my head. I hadn't even sensed it when he'd climbed back down. Turning around on the bench, I scanned the darkness. He'd disappeared like a ghost.

The next time I saw him was behind the supplies tent, grinning triumphantly, his chin tucked down and eyes twinkling at me over a pair of dark sunglasses. He lounged in the driver's seat of one of the camp's dusty Land Rovers, his fingers tapping against the wheel as if keeping time to the beat of some drum line only he could hear. "The eagle has left the nest, Major Trowa, sir," he informed me with an irreverent salute.

"If you're going to spend the next two hours speaking in some doff code, I'll just shoot you now and go play some cards." I had hours to kill before my night shift started.

He started up the engine. "As if you'd get away with it," he said.

I waited until he'd put the vehicle in first gear and was even rolling away from the supply tent before I swung myself into the passenger seat.

"I should be driving," I said as the clutch caught smoothly.

"You should be telling me an amusing anecdote to pass the time. How far are we going, anyway?"

"About ten clicks." That would be far enough to muffle the sound of gunshots as long as we got down in between the dunes. My fingers stirred on the barrel of the unloaded rifle, drawing Duo's gaze.

"What are you, like, sixteen or something?"

I shrugged. I honestly didn't know. I was sixteen according to my passport. "You?"

"Fifteen." He said it with an air of distraction, as if he had no reason to not tell the truth about anything. I couldn't understand him. How could someone be this… open? Duo's voice burst across the wandering path my mind had begun to take: "I can't believe your mom and dad let you do this for a living."

"They don't."

"You left home?"

"The troupe is my home. I'm one out." When a frown pinched his brows together in confusion, I elaborated, "I don't have any parents."

Duo's hands tightened on the wheel. His expression turned both fierce and sad. I waited for the pity, the sympathy, the apologies. I'd never been particularly bothered by any of it before on the very few occasions when anyone from the outside had actually asked. What they didn't understand was that life in a troupe, especially one that didn't hire out for overland fighting, was better than living on the streets… and _that _was even better than the orphanages.

The guys in the troupe knew this, so they never felt sorry for me. Civilians didn't think that way, though. Whenever the subject came up, I'd just let it all slide over me like the desert wind. Besides, even though the captain had never claimed to be my father, it was always his hand on my shoulder in a silent show of allegiance. Still, pity from Duo would be…

I wondered if I had enough time to dismantle the rifle so I wouldn't be tempted to slam the butt of it into his face.

"An aunt or uncle?" he pressed.

I shook my head and looked out across the dunes, counting the oases of scraggly brush in the distance.

"So… how'd you get into this line of work if it's not, y'know, the family business?"

Ah, so that's what he was scheming. He was curious, just curious. I shrugged again. "It _is_ a family business. A family of nobodies."

"But that's not true. You've got a name. That's something."

"Barton is the captain's name, and the name of our troupe. They call me Trowa because, when I was really little, back when they found me, I was obsessed with threes."

"Your lucky number, huh? Why not call you 'Trio', then?"

"My first language was French. _Un, deux, trois…"_ Even as I heard myself offer the explanation, I frowned. How had he gotten me to volunteer all that? I wondered when it'd come back around to bite me on the arse.

"Trowa," Duo summarized, nodding. It wasn't the first time he'd said my name, but it somehow sounded different now. His gaze was focused on the horizon and there was a weight in his voice that pressed against my chest, making my pulse race and my fingertips tingle. I wished I were behind the wheel so I'd have something to grip. I reached for the window frame of the Land Rover.

"I'm a decent driver," Duo assured me.

"Ever driven on sand dunes before?"

"Before right now? Sure. I have ten whole minutes' worth of experience."

I rolled my eyes. He was probably going to end up rolling the 4x4, but I couldn't bring myself to really care. I was looking forward to a challenge. The last time someone had made a doff mistake in our troupe had been many jobs ago and the mistake had been mine. Although, if the Land Rover got rolled, I'd probably end up getting blamed for it.

I sighed.

"Bored already?"

"How come you don't go by 'Dominic'?" I asked instead, remembering the name his father had used the day before. I didn't actually give rocks about his life's story, but it would even the score between us.

Duo grinned. "Ah, yeah. Well, it used to be a thing in our family. My older brother was nicknamed 'Solo' 'cuz he was one of those shut-the-fuck-up-bitches-I'll-do-it-myself types whereas I was always trying to, y'know, grab a share of the glory."

I looked at him until he elaborated.

Sheepishly, he did. "Even if the glory was a broken window dripping with what was left of a gravel-filled mud pie."

"So you got dubbed 'Duo'."

"Yeah."

"Where's your brother now?"

"With my mom."

I didn't ask how or when. Instead, I nodded to the ridge of the sand dune ahead of us. "Take this slope down into the valley. There's a road."

"Copy that," he answered and I was almost positive that I hadn't imagined the giggle in his tone.

He navigated with understated ease. When it looked like we wouldn't be rolling the vehicle down the slope of the dune just now, I asked, "How come you don't sound British?"

"'Cuz I didn't grow up there." He shrugged. "Mom was American. We live there during the school year."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything.

He let out a blustery breath. "Man, she woulda loved to see this place." Then he laughed and the claustrophobic moment fizzled into dust motes. "But she woulda kicked my ass if she found out about this!"

Duo shook his head ruefully, as if remembering a time when she _had _– quote – kicked his ass. "You know how to fight?"

"I had an older brother who was convinced he was an only child. What do you think?"

"I think you rely on stealth more than offense."

He nodded. "Right, well, if we don't end up shooting each other, maybe we'll see about that later."

"Maybe."

We didn't end up shooting each other, which was a welcome non-event. Although Duo claimed to have never handled a gun before, he was very careful with the rifle, always making sure that the muzzle was pointed down and away from us even when it wasn't loaded. When we got to the target portion of the lesson, he walked out with me to set up the scrap of old sail I'd brought along, helping me stretch it across the side of the dune and weigh the corners down. I wondered if he had any idea how comforting it was to see the rifle hooked through his elbow as he walked beside me. I would have been twitchy with a sense of doom if he'd stayed behind with the weapon while I'd come out here on my own to set up.

"You don't trust people easily," he observed as we made our way back in the direction we'd come.

"I've got no reason to."

"Oh, I'm not complaining or anything. I'm just sayin'."

"Saying what, exactly?"

"Is your accent French? It doesn't sound right."

"South African," I answered automatically.

"Ah… yeah. Now I can hear it. Well, anyway, I know you've got that knife on you and there's that handgun tucked into the back of your pants—"

I blinked. How had he known about my concealed gun? It was well-hidden under my flak jacket.

"—so I get that you're cautious and, hell, you have every right to be because, shit, you don't know me, but, thanks."

"Thanks?" I parroted, starting to feel a bit dazed from all the conversational vector shifts. His interrogation technique was masterful and I admired him for it.

"For, uh, going out on a limb?" He grinned.

I smirked. _"You_ did that."

"Oh, _right…"_

Impulsively, I leaned in and bumped his elbow with mine. He laughed.

"Stop. This is far enough," I told him and gestured to the tatty, blue sail in the distance. "Try and hit that with something stronger than a glare."

He took extreme care as he loaded the rifle and removed the safety. I stared at him as he raised the gun to his shoulder and posed himself as I'd lectured earlier, his feet shoulder-width apart. I just couldn't figure him out. He was the son of a wealthy and distinguished British lord, likely had more pozzies than he had a use for scattered all over the planet. He should have been a self-absorbed brat. He should _not _be so trusting, so careful of others, so…

_CRACK!_

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw sand dust spray up in a tiny puff to the right of the target.

Duo put the gun down, took a centering breath, and then, with a glare aimed at the sail, he lifted the rifle for a second shot. He missed again.

"Stop trying to force it," I told him. "Guns are like people. Handle with care."

He glanced at me and blinked.

"What?"

Duo gave me a rueful grin. _"You're_ telling _me _that people need to be handled with care."

"It's not as ironic as it seems," I argued. "When you have someone's life in your hands, that demands more care, not less."

The grin melted away. He looked at me for a long moment. The wind dipped down into this little valley and toyed with the loose strands of his hair, lifting my bangs away from my face. Our gazes met, two eyes to two eyes.

"You're right," he agreed, expression somber and tone rough.

I fisted my hands as a shiver fluttered against the base of my spine where the handgun pressed against my waist.

He lifted the rifle for a third time and a look – a very serious look – came over his face. His forefinger curled around the trigger. His lips moved in silence although I couldn't read the words. And then—

_CRACK!_

"Nice shot," I congratulated him flatly. I'd have to move in closer to check, but it looked like the bullet had hit only about ten centimeters off dead-center.

He smiled, but I could see that it wasn't a happy one. Not really. It was proud, but also sad. I knew the feeling. Knowing you'd just protected yourself and your troupe, knowing that their trust in you had been justified was an accomplishment. Knowing that you might have just killed someone, knowing you had definitely hurt them… that was less so.

"Try again," I told him.

By the time we headed back, he was a decent shot. He'd refused to waste more than twenty bullets: "Hey, somebody's life might depend on how much ammo you have." And he'd insisted on driving: "It'll be less incriminating if anyone objects to our field trip."

I had to agree. If the captain found out this was all my idea, I was going to be stuck on cook duty for a solid month. As it was, he'd be displeased, but I could probably sell him a line about making sure some hot-headed, rich _boykie_ hadn't gone off on his own and gotten himself lost or worse. Duo wasn't hot-headed or a typical, upper-class teenage male, but the captain wouldn't know that.

"Whatever," I agreed, secretly pleased by his offer.

"I'm no expert on South African English," Duo said suddenly, "but you use a lotta American-isms."

"Bryce and Martins are Americans. They talk a lot."

"And give ya a hard time, right? Kinda like uncles?"

How had he guessed? "Ja. Something like that."

"You've got yourself a big family," Duo murmured. "Always wondered what that'd be like."

I looked over at him and something in me – something devilish and alien – made me say, "Too much klank and not enough sharp razors to go around."

"Klank?"

I lifted the elbow closest to him and affected a shudder as I mimed taking a whiff of my own underarm.

He blinked and then he threw back his head and guffawed. I grinned along with him, the expression stretching my face oddly, but it wasn't enough of a reason to stop. He glanced at me and something flickered in his eyes as his gaze snagged on my smile.

My fingers _and _my wrists tingled.

He turned back to the sand dune the Land Rover was crawling along. "Man, some guys've got it all."

My smile faded. "If I had it all, I wouldn't have to work for a living."

He didn't take offense. "Technically, nobody does, not if you're willing to accept a seriously shitty standard of living. But, that's not what work's about, anyway. It's about finding purpose. You think I've got it all because my dad's rich?" He shook his head but he wasn't bitter. "That's just stuff. Sometimes it makes life more comfortable but, mostly, it's just a pain in the ass."

I clenched my jaw shut to keep myself from gaping at him. Who the hell was this oke? Fifteen-year-olds from privileged society didn't talk like this. Not that I'd met my share, but…

Duo glanced over at me and shrugged a shoulder. "We traveled a lot when I was growing up." He said it as if that explained his divergence from the norm.

"And?"

"And… some things just don't change from place to place. I'm just sayin' – even if you'd been born into a family like mine, you'd still have to figure out who the hell you are, or wanna be. Or whatever."

"Whatever?" I echoed, a tickle of humor nudging at my lips.

Duo snorted. "Hah. Yeah. Whatever, man. Whatever."

We arrived back at the dig site before Lord Maxwell returned and, as I still had a couple of hours to kill before my patrol started, I let Duo wheedle one of the grad students – a woman named Lucrezia Noin – into letting us go down into the newly discovered tombs for a look around. Supervised, of course.

"Afraid we're gonna steal some priceless treasure or something?" Duo teased her as we followed her through the stone-lined passageway. He bumped my shoulder playfully and I felt myself relax. I was so used to the distance and distrust from civilians that I hadn't noticed the tension in me until Duo had shared the joke-that-wasn't.

"I'm afraid this tomb was raided ages ago," she told us. "Probably weeks after the deceased was laid to rest."

"So how come you're digging? I mean, if you don't expect to find anything…?"

She paused and held her torch up, shining the beam onto the wall and revealing faded paint. Images and hieroglyphics covered every inch of the tunnel walls. "I didn't say we wouldn't find _anything_ or that it wouldn't be valuable."

"Oh, _sweet!"_ Duo said, turning to move the beam of his own torch up off the sand-covered floor and illuminate the walls. I watched his eyes move up and then down, from left to right, his mouth moving again in silence. Amazingly, he was _reading _what was written there.

I'd never been jealous of anyone in my life. Well, not in my memory. But I was instantly _burning _with envy. I wanted to do what he could do. I wanted that knowledge, that power, that connection to the world which had been laid at my feet. I was right here, on the cusp of something mysterious and rare, and yet all I could do was gape at it like some kind of dorpie chop.

"This is the tomb of the cousin of King, er… hold up. I can't pronounce this name."

He pointed to the characters which had brought him up short and Lucrezia leaned over. She said it aloud for our benefit, but I couldn't tell you what it was. I was busy staring at Duo. Wanting. I was busy watching him for a flirtatious smile or a sly glance at the beautiful woman who was almost leaning against him as she answered his question.

He turned to me instead. "Hey, if you want, I could show you what some of these mean later." He gestured to the painted characters. "I'm not an expert or anything, but…"

"Sure," I answered, willing Lucrezia to back off.

She did. "Next stop, the burial chamber. Watch your heads."

I shadowed Duo as we moved deeper into the darkness of the tomb, pausing with him whenever he'd stop to point out some collection of hieroglyphs that he thought he knew. Had Lucrezia done so, it would have seemed condescending and superior in the way that these experts with their larny university degrees often were, but Duo acted like he was simply reading a book summary out loud.

I decided that Duo would make a good teacher, so when he plopped down next to me at lunch (which was actually my breakfast) the next day, I didn't waste time getting him started. Lord Maxwell was only staying for a few days in total and, when he left, Duo would be going with him.

"What does that owl character mean? And the eye one?" I said by way of greeting as I worked my way through my coffee, fried bread, and beans.

"Oh, man," he began, going from zero to enthused in about half a second. "The ancient Egyptians had the coolest alphabet ever. Here—" He pulled out a small, digital tablet from his pocket – he was wearing black denims today with a white T-shirt that had an illustration of a pink monster of some sort named "Mr. Bubbles" on it – and started poking at the touch screen with a plastic, pencil-shaped tool.

We sat there, warming the bench in the mess hall tent for the better part of an hour as he translated whatever I wanted to know, insofar as he could. "I'm not an expert at this stuff!" he kept saying until I replied, smirking, "But you will be, someday."

He looked bashful in response to that. "Yeah. Someday."

"C'mon," I said, dumping out my coffee grounds and rinsing my cup out at the pump station.

"Where're we going?"

I grinned. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled so much in the span of three days' time, but the gesture was starting to become more familiar. This time, I guessed my smile looked a little evil because Duo actually sucked in a breath and blinked at me. "Out," I replied.

"Uh… what for?"

"It's my turn to teach _you _something." I crooked a finger and watched him gulp.

Evil. Absolutely.

But he followed me out to a patch of vacant ground behind the supply tent where I invited him to throw a punch at me.

He laughed in my face. "Yeah, and the next thing I know, I'm eatin' dirt donuts for dessert."

"I'll be gentle."

He just laughed harder. "Dude. Two words: lethal force. Do I look like I was born yesterday?"

"If you'd been born yesterday, I wouldn't be bothering to show you how to defend yourself."

"Hm, yeah."

I folded my arms across my chest. "If it's not on, just say so."

"Oh, I'm interested, all right," he answered with gratifying certainty, "but I ain't suicidal." He glanced at the knife on my belt. "That and the gun in the shoulder holster under your jacket have gotta go."

I stared at him for a minute. How did he know I'd moved the handgun from the waistband of my pants to under my left arm today? But then I shrugged. "Fine." I disarmed myself, laying both items on the running board of a nearby Land Rover.

"And, just for the record," he continued when I turned back around, "I'm lettin' you keep the piece in your boot."

I squinted at him and speculated, "Been around mercenaries much before?"

"Once or twice. Only, they're called 'security goons' where I come from."

"I'll keep that in mind." I squared off with him. "Now, throw a punch."

"Slo-mo?"

That might be for the best. An _actual _punch would likely trigger reflexes in me that would have him savoring that dirt donut he'd mentioned earlier. I nodded.

"Ooo-kay…" He made a fist with his right hand and drew it back. "Shit, I can't believe I'm gonna do this. This has gotta be the stupidest thing I've ever done," he informed me, fist still poised in the air.

I rolled my eyes. "Slo-mo, Duo. I'm just going to show you what to do."

So he "punched" me in such painfully exaggerated slow motion that I almost laughed. But I kept my word. When I reached out to grab his wrist, I didn't grip him hard. The feel of his skin beneath my fingers was unanticipated, though. Normally, I'd be moving so quickly that the heat and tender flesh on my assailant's inner arm wouldn't even register. But I felt it all now. With almost frightening intensity.

I cleared my throat. "Easiest move," I began, "is to sidestep and then shove your opponent down. Use his momentum against him and push him to the ground." I tugged relentlessly on his arm, forcing him to stumble forward a step and bend his knees so I could place a hand on his shoulder blade. He kept his eyes on mine, though, and I couldn't bring myself to shove him into the sand.

I stepped back and released him. "Now you try."

I fisted my left hand and aimed a slow punch at the center of his chest. We worked on that until I was throwing actual punches at him, both left and right, and he was actually pulling-pushing me to my knees. When I decided he'd gotten the hang of it, I attacked one last time, let him yank and jerk me to the sand, and then, quick as lightning, I twisted toward him and drew the short, utility knife from my boot before leaping to my feet. I loomed in front of him and fisted his T-shirt in my hand, drawing him onto his toes and angling my knife toward his neck like I was intending to stab him in the throat.

"Don't panic," I coached him in a soft tone just as his eyes went wide and blank with mindless shock. "Grab my wrist with your left hand… Good. Now take a step back. See how you've got me off balance? Now pull my knife arm down and around behind my back—"

"Like this?"

I grunted as he swung me about. "Ja. Now use your right foot and step in front of my left…" I waited until he completed the maneuver. "Right, next, push me to the left so I trip over your foot as you drag me down."

He did. I taught him how to hold an opponent pinned to the ground, how to safely force him to release the weapon, and then we practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more.

Until, finally, I just stayed down and slowly rolled over, trying not to grin.

"Oh, shit, Tro. Lookit you." He squatted over me and grinned so maniacally it was a wonder he could speak at all. "This is Earth. Greetings, mysterious traveler from the far distant Planet of the Dust Bunnies."

"Bunny?" I coughed, sitting up and twirling the utility knife between my fingers.

"Er, a saber-toothed bunny."

With a snort, I slid the knife back into my boot and grasped the hand Duo held out to me. I let him drag me to my feet. Then I leaned forward and shook my sandy hair at him. He sputtered and coughed, staggering back a few paces and waving his arms to disperse the cloud. I laughed.

"You've been hanging around the toppie's lightie," the captain said to me as I reported for duty, still thoroughly camouflaged in sand dust.

"Ja." There was no point in denying it.

He smiled at me, his snarly beard twitching upward on his ruddy cheeks. "It's been tops to hear you laugh, Trowa."

I waited to be sent off to work.

"Can't remember the last time you did, to tell you the truth."

I couldn't, either.

"Don't let 'im break your heart."

I blinked.

The captain slapped me on the shoulder. "West perimeter tonight, Trowa."

I nodded and headed for my post. On the perimeter, I had to pause and take a deep breath to clear out the captain's words from my head. I wasn't… Duo wasn't… Besides, I didn't have a heart.

The blood churning in my veins settled. My thoughts stilled. My expression smoothed. I focused on the job.

After two night shifts in a row, I was rotated to afternoons and evenings, so I lost a whole day getting acclimated to my new schedule. I wanted to strangle someone. Ferociously. With a kak-covered shoelace.

"Been keepin' outta trouble?" Duo asked me when I stopped by the mess hall tent on my way back from walking the southern boundary line. It was long past dinner time; he and I were the only ones here.

"Ja," I answered, sliding into the seat opposite his without waiting for an invitation. "It sucks."

He gave me a crooked grin. "Yeah."

I took note of the somber, charcoal grey, long-sleeved knit shirt he was wearing in deference to the cool desert night. There were no illustrations. No red lips or pink monsters. Compared to those, this looked like something he'd wear to a funeral.

I looked down at the papers and reference books spread out over the long, folding table. He'd been working on something. Studying or translating. I wasn't sure which. I reached for a hand-written page and read the first line. It was a report on the discoveries Merquise's team had made here.

"Careful with that," Duo warned me, smiling. "It's my one and only chance to get my history teacher to ignore the fact that I never got around to writing my paper on British colonies in the Americas during the 18th and 19th centuries."

I set it down with exaggerated care. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks."

Silence curled around us and tightened its coils. _Are you pulling out tomorrow?_ I didn't ask. I didn't _want_ to ask. My throat closed in until it hurt to breathe. I ate my way through my late dinner gingerly and Duo nit-picked at his report with such care you'd think we were both navigating a minefield. My gaze caught Duo's again and again in edgy non-speak as he seemed to wage some internal debate.

Finally, he took a deep breath and fisted his hands with determination. "Hey," he said, reaching for and shuffling the pages of his report together before sliding them into the largest reference book on the table. He stood up and announced, "Grab a flashlight. I've got somethin' to show you."

I did as asked, ducking into the armory tent and then meeting him in the center of the moonlit dig site. In the darkness, I couldn't see his face clearly, but I watched as he lifted a hand to his mouth, pressed a shadowed finger to his lips, and shushed me.

"Hand," he requested on a breath and I offered him my left. His fingers banded hotly around my wrist and I followed him as silently as I was able as he threaded our way past tents and sail-covered excavation pits. For a minute, I was sure he was leading us back to the burial chamber we'd visited with Lucrezia a few days ago, but he turned sharply before we entered that tomb and climbed down a set of earthen steps, ducking into a far narrower tunnel. He had to let me go, but he turned on his torch before scuttling down the crawlspace.

"Another tomb?" I whispered.

"Yeah," he rasped in reply. "Not for a cousin of a king or anything, but yeah, it is."

There were no inscriptions on these walls and I wondered what could possibly be worth the effort of wiggling through the tunnel. I got the answer to my question when Duo pulled himself into the chamber beyond and reached a hand back to help me.

He pointed his light up at the ceiling and I could see his ecstatic expression in the glow. "Are you ready for this?"

Before I could answer, he shined his light around the room and, after a gob smacked moment, my torch beam joined in. This was no royal burial chamber, but the interred must have been a noble of some sort. Or perhaps a very wealthy merchant. I gazed at the painted pots, the carved statues, the scrolls and other items that awaited their lord's use in the afterlife.

"Where's the sarcophagus?" I whispered and Duo motioned to a neatly disguised archway which had been bricked over and painted with elaborate designs and hieroglyphs.

"Through there. They're still cataloguing everything from this room. So it's gonna take time."

I nodded, playing the beam over the room again, this time pausing to study the details, the writing, the craftsmanship that had gone into the chamber.

"We should go," Duo said a little sadly. "There aren't any air vents cut into the walls."

I sighed. "Thank you, Duo. For this."

He reached for my hand in the darkness and squeezed it. I listened as he squirmed his way back into the tunnel and then I followed after him. When we made it back to the sail-covered stairwell that the excavators had cut into the clay, he put a hand on my arm to keep me from heading above ground.

I sat on one of the ledges and Duo propped his torch on a step, shining the light away from the pit opening. He dug something out of his denims pocket, closing his fist around it and concealing it from view completely.

"Here," he whispered, thrusting his hand out to me. My acceptance of it was automatic.

In the wash of the torch's beam, I watched as he placed something small in my palm. I moved closer to the light and studied what appeared to be a painted clay pendant. There were hieroglyphs on both sides of the thing and a leather cord looped through the hole that had been punched into it.

"Did you find this?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Made it. This side has your name – Trowa – on it and the other…"

His tone petered out and I thought I heard him swallow. I turned the oblong pendant over and, if I was remembering the hieroglyphs he'd shown me correctly, then this was—

"Your name?"

He chuckled. It sounded forced. Nervous. "Er, yeah. Just in case you forget where you got the damn thing—"

"Duo." I reached for him in the gloom, my voice little more than a breath of sound. I framed his face in my hands, trapping the gift between his skin and mine. He stilled and something deep inside me clicked into place. Had I ever reached out so readily to touch another person? I didn't know, but it didn't matter. I'd reached for Duo and he was letting me hold onto him. "I won't forget." I couldn't. I didn't want to.

He didn't tell me he'd be leaving soon. He didn't tell me he didn't want to go. I watched his lashes flutter downward, felt my heart pound in my chest as he looked at my mouth. He leaned a little closer, into my hands which were rough and callused and a little grimy. He leaned and waited. Trusting. Always so bloody trusting.

I closed the distance between us and kissed him. He gasped against my lips, shifted forward, and I felt his hand land on my shoulder, his fingers curling into my muscles like claws. I shivered and pressed harder against his lips, moving mine in an approximation of what I thought a kiss should be, going on instinct alone.

I moaned when I felt his tongue touch my lips. I opened my mouth and kept it open, nudging against his lips until he filled the space with his tongue and I tasted him. One hand migrated to his braid and the other to his arm. He mirrored me, his fingers sifting through the short hair at the back of my head as his hand kneaded my shoulder.

He shivered when I stroked his tongue awkwardly with mine and then he retreated from my mouth. I followed. We kissed until our lips were raw and warm, tingling from the friction. He was breathing hard when he pulled back and his eyes were pure black in the dim light.

"Trowa."

It was only the sound of my name, but it made fire dance in my veins. I shuddered. I ached. I was leaking inside my pants I was so hard. It was exhilarating. It scared me.

"I've never done this before," he confessed.

I wasn't sure what "this" meant, but it didn't matter. "As well," I admitted and gave in to the temptation of his swollen lips.

He was my first. The first real friend I'd made on my own, my first kiss, my first love.

Damn it. I did have a heart after all.

It was on the tip of my tongue to offer to go with him, but how would I pay the airfare? Where would I get the documents needed to enter the United States (or Britain or wherever he was going) legally? I didn't have a birth certificate or legal guardians. Besides which, my shoddy passport read like it belonged to a mercenary, which it did. They'd never let me past immigration. And even if they did, what would I do in that far-off land of Duo's? Get a job? Go to high school? Where would I live? Who would I _be?_

I groaned at the impossibility of it all. God but I was going to miss him.

"Don't forget me," I whispered against his mouth, opening my eyes and watching him do the same.

He smiled, pressing his forehead to mine and curling his hand around the back of my neck. "As if I could."

I tried to breathe, but he was so close and warm. I damned time for existing, for only giving us these few days to know each other.

"I'm gonna write to you," he promised rashly. "And you'd better write back."

"And talk about what?" I challenged. Even if his letters managed to find me, what would we write about? What did we have in common? Nothing. It was hopeless. Why bother trying to keep in touch at all?

"We'll talk about whatever we want. Chopin. Dull razors. Gun oil." He glared at me, impassioned and determined. "Anything."

"Right," I agreed.

When he kissed me, I fell into the taste of him. Duo taught me how to kiss that night, and he seemed to appreciate my novice skill at it, making soft noises in the back of his throat as he melted into my hands. Maybe I was good at kissing but, if that were true, then it was only true in his case. I was learning how to kiss _Duo_ and I knew I would not be kissing anyone else this way. Never in a million years.

When he drew back again, he panted against my cheek, "D'you think this means we're gay?"

I didn't know and I didn't care. "Does it matter?"

"No." He burrowed his face between my jacket collar and my sweaty, dusty neck and breathed deeply for one breath… two… three… "I'm never gonna forget," he whispered.

I clutched him to me heedless of the weapons and dust and layers of cloth between us, rubbing my cheek against his ear, his hair. I'd only known him for a few days, but I knew – _deep down _– that I was never going to meet another person like him.

"We'll see each other again," I promised suddenly. Someday, I'd have my own fortune. Someday, I'd have the kind of knowledge he did. I'd teach myself if I had to. I'd spend every morning, afternoon, and night off reading whatever I could get my hands on. Maybe I wouldn't be his equal someday, but I was determined to hold my own, to look him in the eye as a man who didn't have to have a gun in his hands in order to be useful.

"You're damn right we'll see each other again," he growled and a tingle shot up my spine. So, he was aggressive after all, just not about the things I'd expected.

We huddled in the dugout under the sail, arms wrapped around each other as we sat side by side. I dossed and woke repeatedly to the feel of Duo shifting against me, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth, waking me for another kiss. I did the same to him, rousing him with a touch along his sleeve from elbow to shoulder until he lifted his face from my neck and offered his mouth to me.

We shared warmth and breath, kisses and whispers until false dawn began to brighten the sky. With a last, gentle brush of too-sensitive and chapped lips – a single chaste kiss – I stood and nudged the sail aside for him. He placed a hand on my shoulder and climbed out slowly, his muscles as cramped as mine from spending all night sitting in the cool, hard-packed dirt.

I walked him back to his tent in silence, stopping him by the entrance to pull him fully against me. I wrapped my arms around him completely, petting his hair as I memorized the scent of him. He clung to me just as tightly. I brushed my lips along his jaw as I forced myself to let him go.

Leaving him there and heading back to my own bed was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. I was shaking and nauseous with exhaustion. My eyes were burning and itching, my vision blurring and swimming. The last thing I wanted to do was crash and miss his departure, whenever it was, but that's precisely what happened.

I came to hours later. It was sweltering in the tent. The sun was baking the fabric walls and my sweat-soaked clothes were clinging to my skin. It was past noon my stomach told me with a growl.

Movement at the tent entrance startled me. The gun was steady in my grasp even though my arm felt like jelly as I sighted down the barrel at the intruder. It was the captain. I lowered the gun. He met my gaze and sighed. In that moment, I knew that Duo was gone, gone back to where he'd come from and he wasn't coming back.

"Yoh," Captain Barton said, holding out a foil-wrapped military ration to me. I took it with numb fingers. "There's hot coffee in your flask. Take the day for yourself, Trowa."

The captain gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder and then he left.

I sat and I shivered in the heat of midday in the desert. I had never been so terrified in my life. Nor had I ever been so determined. My fingers curled around the energy bar in my hand as something unnamable and undefeatable clawed its way up from my belly: Duo had given me purpose, had opened my eyes to the future. I didn't want to spend it like this, no matter how much the troupe was like a family to me.

I raised my other hand to the pendant Duo had helped me tie around my neck. It hung below my collarbone but above my heart. I'd asked Duo to help me position it so that the strap from my rifle wouldn't bump or rub it and end up breaking it. I closed my eyes and remembered his warm weight against my side, his lips against mine, his taste on my tongue.

I'd never known my parents, but I couldn't say I'd never known love. Not anymore.

The dig carried on. Days passed. I walked click after click on guard duty, never getting anywhere. I asked Lucrezia to let me borrow some of the camp's reference books so I could try to understand what was going on around me. Besides, it helped pass the time.

No one mentioned Lord Maxwell's son to me. Not even old man Bryce and he made it his mission in life to tease me about anything he could. He teased me about my hair ("When are you gonna switch sides? You don't want to end up with half your face tanned!") and about my seriousness ("Better not smile or your face'll get stuck that way!") and about my appetite ("Hurry up and eat, boys! Trowa's coming back for third helpings already!") but he didn't tease me about Duo even though he had to have known what had happened. They all must have.

I waited weeks to hear from him. Every day was longer and heavier to bear than the previous one. Every day I felt a little more hope die, another edge of my expectation dull. Eventually, I tried not to think about him at all.

And then—

A shadow fell over me and I startled, looking up from cleaning my rifle after my morning rounds. Martins was grinning down at me. I hadn't heard him stomp over; I was listening to Beethoven. I preferred Chopin, but Beethoven did not carry the same connotations for me, connotations I was trying to avoid.

I scowled up at Martins. I could feel the lines deepening on my face. I scowled a lot these days, but my irritation didn't even register on his radar. Grin widening, he waved a padded envelope beneath my nose. It was taped and re-taped and stamped with a seal of inspection from the Egyptian Customs Authority. I wiped my suddenly numb, jittery hands on my fatigues before I took it from him.

The return address was American and the handwriting was familiar. The envelope itself was addressed to "Trowa Barton, junior security goon of Professor Merquise's super-cool dig site" and beneath it was the professor's university mailing address.

Smiling, I made a mental note to thank him for letting Duo use his faculty mailbox.

I slit the envelope open with my utility knife and stared at what slid out. There was a digital notepad like the one Duo had used and a charger cable, complete with a voltage adapter. I somehow knew that Duo had taken out a service contract for it before sending it to me. I could probably send him emails from anywhere in the world. Perhaps I could even access the electronic libraries he'd used.

He shouldn't have done this; it was too much. But it was also just enough to ease the constant ache in my chest. I needed to talk to him more than I cared about letting him pay the bill for it.

I gave the inside of the envelope a cursory glance and was glad I did when I found a folded sheet of notebook paper wedged inside. I opened it. The message was simply "Do you miss me yet?" followed by a carefully printed email address.

Grinning widely, dismantled gun forgotten, I powered up the digital notepad and accessed the Internet.

I keyed in his email address and messaged him two words in reply. I hit Send.

Leaning back against the tree where I'd first shaken hands with him, first been introduced to his braid and his enigma, I queued Chopin's Nocturne, opus nine, number two as I waited and imagined where Duo was now, what he was doing, how soon he'd get my reply, the look on his face when he read my answer.

I smiled, picturing it. Did I miss him, he wanted to know.

The answer was: _Of course._

Only five minutes passed before the digital pad buzzed in my hands and the screen illuminated. I had a reply. It was from Duo and it was only one word: /Good./

My smile widened.

And then a second text message alert flashed.

/And, by the way, you still owe me that amusing anecdote. From the Jeep./

I laughed. Ja, I guess I did.

I didn't finish cleaning the rifle until something like two hours later and then it only got done because Duo had to get ready to go to school.

We were still worlds apart in more ways than one, but I had so much more now than I'd ever had before in my life: I had a purpose, I had a friend, and I had hope.

* * *

NOTES:

I first encountered the image of Trowa with earphones on, listening to classical music, with a rifle in his hands in "Galileo" by Clever Young Theif. Loved it so much I had to develop it in this fic.

I know nothing about ancient Egypt or archeology. If you spot any errors, let me know! (I'm in this for the Duo/Trowa, but it'd be nice to be accurate on the RL details.)

Also, I'm not sure how soon wireless Internet service was widely available for Palm Pilot-type devices in Africa, but let's assume that it was possible by the time Duo visited the dig site. And let's also assume that Trowa didn't have to assemble anything or charge the battery before using it for the first time.

Also, I am not in any way an expert on South African English. If you are and you have some suggestions for me, please send me a Private Message (PM)! Your help would be MUCH appreciated. Trowa's voice is a mix of American, British, and South African slang and syntax since not all the mercenaries in this troupe are from South Africa. I only mention three and their origins (Captain Barton is from South Africa, Bryce and Martins are Americans) but there are others from completely different countries. I was going to use Afrikaans slang and words like "lekker" for Trowa in this first part but, in the end, I decided the Afrikaans would be too distracting from the rest of the prose and words like "lekker" (i.e. nice, good, great, awesome) were too casual for Trowa to use and still be in character. (But they will be sneaking their way in later.) So, the South African words and terms I've chosen for him often refer to a specific thing, like the kind of shoes Duo wears, or they regularly pop up in conversation, like "just now", or can be used sarcastically, like "give rocks".

Why doesn't Trowa go to school? I'm assuming it's because mandatory education isn't enforced in most African countries in this alternate universe. Trowa probably would be enrolled in school if he were living in an orphanage or something but, in this AU, living in an orphanage would be worse than being raised by mercenaries. I'm assuming he learned to read and write from the captain (and perhaps participated in distance learning via radio, which helps explain his correct usage of standardized English).

On the subject of mercenaries, I've decided to give the Barton Troupe a niche in protecting land and assets rather than fighting. Trowa undoubtedly knows how to fight and he lives a dangerous life, but I just didn't want to get into all the civil unrest that occurs (and has been occurring) in Africa. This AU focuses on the upper class or local businesses or organizations which need a little extra muscle for guarding something valuable. Since the dig site is funded by Lord Maxwell (and not the Egyptian government in this universe), they don't call in the Egyptian army to protect the integrity of the site. Although, if the army had better things to do anyway, the government might still have hired the Bartons even if the dig was state-funded.

In case you're wondering, there really was a French settlement/colony in South Africa once, but they were more or less absorbed into the Afrikaans culture. In this AU, however, I'm assuming that there's _still _a large French community in South Africa, so that's where Trowa is from and why his first language is French. Goodness, I sure am getting a lot of mileage outta my Artistic License.

There is no NCS in this fic. No references to past NCS, either. Trowa, due to his nomadic lifestyle and the fact that mingling with "civilians" is not encouraged (by either the troupe or the civilians), has zero sexual experience. (Also, when you consider the kinds of people who would normally need to hire mercs, it seems highly unlikely that Trowa would take a personal interest in them or that his troupe would allow them to take an interest in _him.)_ As for Duo, he's pretty mature for his age so he's not as interested as other boys in casual sexual encounters. (More on why he is the way he is later.)

I tend to write OTP (one true pairing) fics, and Duo & Trowa are it in this one. As to why there isn't any sex yet: they're just teenagers (and young teens at that). Not every teen has sex on the first date… or the second or third. Especially when they don't have much experience or confidence. Gotta love it: uncertainty plus hormones equals epic make-out sessions.

* * *

South African terms and slang:

As well = me, too

Boykie = a sporty, white-bread, stereotypical high school boy

Chop = idiot

Doff = stupid

Dorpie = small town

Doss = sleep, nap

Don't give rocks (with or without the negative) = couldn't care less/don't give a rat's ass

Ja = yes/yeah (pronounced "yah", as in the Swedish or Danish "ja")

Ja well no fine = (I probably should have used this instead of "Whatever" if I'd wanted Trowa to be strictly South African, but he's got a steady American influence in his life so he says stuff like "whatever" and "sucks".)

Just now = in the near future (20 minutes or so from right now)

Larny (alternate spellings are also used) = fancy, snobby

Kak = shit (among other bad, stinky things)

Klankie = an unpleasant smell (I use the alternate spelling - "klank" - to mean "body odor".)

Oke = guy, dude, man (pronounced like the English word "oak")

One out = alone or by oneself

Pozzie = home/house

Sail = a tarpaulin, a tarp, a plastic sheet for covering and protecting stuff from wind or rain, etc.

Scheme = think/contemplate

Takkies = sneakers (US) or trainers (UK)

Toppie's lightie = the boss's kid (in this context), but "toppie" can also mean "old man" or "father"

Tops = excellent or the best

Yoh = an expression generally meant to convey surprise (like "Hey!" or "Oi!" or "Whoa!") but I use it as a substitute for "Here (this is for you)" – the captain says this to get Trowa's attention

* * *

Fic Recommendation:

Granate's 1x2x1 fic, "Layers" on uses many similar elements and the details about archaeology are hella accurate, which is awesome. It's a wonderful read and I highly recommend it if you're a Duo/Heero 'shipper.


	2. Ruins, Part 1

**Warnings:** alternate universe fic, language, shounen ai, eventual yaoi (male/male sex), reference to yuri (female/female sexual relationship), angst, eventual character death & reference to torture

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot._ Without permission.

* * *

The main story of "Tomb Raiders" begins NOW.

We now jump forward three years in time to 2012.

**Dec 08 2012 Update!** Here's the general layout of the fic: _Hieroglyphs_ (prologue), _Ruins_ (3 parts), _Appearances_ (3 parts), _Team Work_ (3 parts), _Prom Night_ (3 parts), _The Quest_ (3 or more parts), and some kind of epilogue. Estimated word count: approx. 170,000. Eish. You can follow my writing progress on my livejournal.

Recommended theme music for "Ruins" - the album "What if" by Earlyrise (Check them out on CDbaby's online independent music store or iTunes.) Their lyrics have a straightforward, "young" quality to them that I think matches Duo and Trowa's ages. Plus, I really like their music style and composition.

* * *

If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate posts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Ruins - Part 1: Plans & Panic"

* * *

**Tomb Raiders: Ruins – Part 1** (Duo POV)

"Oh, come on, Duo!"

I shook my head. "I don't wanna go, Hilde. Just drop it."

"But it's your senior prom! And you didn't go to any of the other ones. This is your last chance!"

"I'm aware of that," I retorted wryly but with no intention whatsoever of giving in.

Growing up, I'd spent just about every school holiday following my dad and mom to obscure and remote places, to archeology dig sites in South America, Russia, Southeast Asia, and Africa. Just to name a few. I'd been to corners of the world where kids my age and younger had to work for a living, had to learn how to handle weapons before they'd ever touched a computer. So what if I didn't go to my stupid prom? It was nothing but a pointless waste of time and money meant to piggyback on Valentine's Day in order to counter the commercialism whiplash of the Christmas-shopping-spree season. Which we were currently in the middle of.

"You're a pal and a half, Hils," I said, cutting across her next argument, "but there's nuthin' you can say that's gonna change my mind."

"Bet you would if your pen pal asked you to go," she grumbled.

She was probably right. Hell, I'd go to _Hell itself _and back if Trowa asked me to. Still, I somehow doubted that he'd ask me to go to prom.

He and I hadn't seen each other in the last three years but, thanks to the miracle of communications satellites, we were keeping in touch almost daily. Some days for freakin' _hours_ at a time. Those were the best. The days when I didn't hear from him at all were the worst. On those days, I wondered if he was fighting, if he was injured, if his stuff had been stolen or his cell phone broken and I worried how in the hell I was gonna send him a new one, worried that I'd lost him not just to the anonymity of the eight or so billion people on the planet, but to death itself. A million and a half horrible things could happen to him and I wouldn't know until it was too late, and there wouldn't be a damn thing I could do to help—!

I shook myself.

"You're just jealous," I retorted, rallying my composure. I held the front door open for her and we escaped the school building with the rest of the student body, heading for the student parking lot and our cars.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Her breath puffed and plumed in the early-December freeze. "I'd have to actually _see_ him to be jealous."

"Hey!" I objected laughing, amused that she'd dismissed _me_ so easily. I was a good catch. Except that rumor had it I was gay. Well, whatever. Maybe I was. In any case, I had zero interest in dating anyone from _this _preppy prep school.

"That's right, go on and defend your stud muffin invisible friend."

I rolled my eyes. "He's not invisible."

"But he _is_ a stud muffin?" she fished.

I refused to be caught. "No comment." He was, though. He so was. And I _could _have shared that much with Hilde, since I _did_ have photos of Trowa, but I'd promised him I wouldn't show them to a soul. Who'da guessed he was so shy? He sure was photogenic, though; that was for _damn _sure.

The latest in cell phone technology had built-in cameras, so when I'd sent him the most recent replacement for the Palm Pilot from three years ago, I made sure to include a model that had all the bells and whistles. By way of thanks (and after I'd practically begged for a snapshot of him: "Hey, you can show off all your cool scars" and "I need it for my shrine to your Awesome" hadn't budged his resolve, but with the simple "Please, Trowa – it would mean _a lot _to me," I'd hit pay dirt), he'd sent me a photo of himself looking adorably nervous in a threadbare tank top with the pendant I'd made for him three years ago still there resting against the center of his muscular chest. That, plus the sight of his toned arms, had inspired me to redouble my efforts for the school swim team.

God but I missed him. More and more with every day, it seemed. The guy was damn funny and freakin' smart and it burned me up that he was probably never gonna get outta that world of violence and uncertainty on his own. I had to bite my tongue to keep from offering him Solo's old room at my dad's place at least five times a day. I kept it down to about once a month, saving the offer for when he'd had a tip-top-shitty, my-life-reeks-like-rancid-cat-ass day. But soon – just as soon as I got through graduation and my dad moved back to London – I was gonna have the apartment all to myself and then Trowa wouldn't be able to use the old excuse about intruding on my dad.

Speaking of which, I was pretty sure my dad still didn't know that his only living son was hung up on the memory of a three-years-ago, all-night-long make-out session _and_ was crushing harder with every passing day on a South African merc.

Jesus. I couldn't really tell you what I'd been thinking that night. I mean, as a 15-year-old kid, any number of random stimuli'd had the potential to get my rockets charged and ready for boosting, but there'd been _something_ about Trowa. Solid, grounded, quiet-but-not-silent, earnest-but-not-humorless, tough-but-not-callus Trowa. Trowa, whose only self-indulgence seemed to be his iPod and collection of classical music. I'd never met anyone like him. Nor had I ever kissed anyone so dedicated to just existing in the moment.

Not that I'd kissed all that many people before him. Just one. Hilde, actually. And it was a damn good thing she'd decided she hadn't liked my long hair enough to overlook the fact that I was a boy because that meant we could still be friends and she could get on with convincing her would-be-girlfriend, Dorothy, to play for the home team. Seeing as how they'd been going out for something like two years now, that alone told you how persuasive Hilde could be.

But after Trowa? No, I hadn't kissed anyone. I didn't want to. I was still living off of my memories, as pathetic as that sounded. Pathetic but so vivid and, in my memory, he tasted better every time.

Despite the temperature being like nine hundred degrees below zero and despite the ice-crusted snow crunching under my feet, I flushed, sweating inside my wool coat.

"Duo?"

"Huh?" I looked up and realized I'd blindly followed Hilde over to her car. Damn. Where was my head?

Hah. I knew where it was. It was in Ethiopia or Uganda or Madagascar… wherever Trowa was today. And it was busy imagining how a night together with no interruptions would play out now that I was older and wiser (even if I wasn't any more experienced) in the Way of the Hormonal Teenager. (O, sacred path of the young and impatient! Lead me to the light!)

Right. I had to cut this out. I could Kama Sutra myself into a jerk-off session _later,_ in the comforts of central heating.

"Watch out for the black ice," I muttered. But I could tell that the warning wouldn't be doing _me_ any good. I was probably fated to wrap my car around a lamppost or something when I started zoning out on His Hotness again.

"Black ice. Got it." She smirked. Yeah, I guess it was pretty obvious I wasn't thinking about the road conditions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Duo," Hilde said and I got my ass outta there.

I unlocked the driver's side door of my piece-of-shit, four-door sedan and slid in behind the wheel. The engine turned over after a grumble of protest and the heater whined at me when I cranked it all the way up. It really was a crap car. I could have bought a new one like most of the student body here had, but I'd decided to save my trust fund allowance for, Trowa willing, a one-way airplane ticket from wherever in Africa to New York plus what it was gonna cost to get him suited up for life in the Big Apple: a driver's license, a GED, maybe even a permit to own and carry a gun. (I wasn't sure if he'd want that last option or not, but I'd checked around and saved up for all the hoopla that went with it and OMG hella lotta _hello_ hoopla.) Hell, I even had enough money saved up for an additional round-trip ticket to Africa just in case I had to go and drag his ass back here with me.

So, I had a shitty car. Everyone assumed that I hadn't gotten a hot new set of wheels because I'd pissed off my dad. Well, they could go right on thinkin' that. I had bigger and better things on my mind.

Heh, speaking of which…

As I waited for the engine to warm up, I pulled out my cell phone and opened up the photo album on it, smiling at the picture of Trowa in that tank top. I couldn't see much else, but I got the impression that the tangle of shadows over his shoulder was the corner of his bedroll. I liked that he'd sent me a photo taken of himself sitting up in bed. I liked being able to imagine that the hand holding the phone up for the shot was actually hooked around the back of my neck, pulling me down to join him. Yeah, I liked that _a lot._

In the second photo of my password-protected Trowa Only Folder, he was dressed in his fatigues with the jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sitting on the hood of a battered Jeep smiling bashfully. Then, at some point, his troupe buddies had snitched his phone and snapped candids of him. There was one of him cooking over a camp stove, stirring a pot that looked like it was big enough to feed all fourteen guys in his troupe _and _their egos twice over (Trowa actually looked kinda irritated in that shot). And another of his profile against a cloudy sky as he took watch somewhere at the edge of a jungle (his eyes had never looked so hard). And there was one shot of him cleaning a rifle while wearing his earphones (I remembered that look of peace on his face very clearly). Finally, there was a photo of the whole troupe posed together. It amazed me that these big, rough, battle-scarred and war-hardened guys could still smile. Trowa stood off to the side, looking miffed that the older guy he'd called Bryce had dared to put an arm around his shoulders and give him bunny ears.

I was pretty sure that if _I_ gave him bunny ears, he wouldn't be miffed. Hm. I'd have to ask him about that later.

I sighed and buckled my seatbelt. As I pulled out to join the line of cars leaving the student parking lot, I thought about how it was getting harder and harder (Hah! So true.) to keep our conversations from going into the realm of heavy flirting. This had not been an issue back when wireless Internet service had still been patchy at best, but somebody somewhere had pushed some big, red button or other to make the whole shebang just _groove_ and now we didn't have any "lost carrier signal" alerts to interrupt our chats which were veering toward the realm of intense with increasing frequency.

Time and time again, I had to tear my thumb away from the Send button on my iPhone, delete the text message I'd just entered, and start over. Yeah, I wanted to know if he still thought about my last night at the dig site in Egypt. Yeah, I wanted to know if he felt hot all over and his lips tingled and he got hard remembering it like I did. It was killing me to not send those messages, but I was planning to ask him to come and live with me (and I wasn't gonna take "no" for an answer) and I didn't want him to feel like I wanted him here just because he was hot and I was horny. (Both of which were totally true, but I knew, intellectually, that they should _not_ be the most important factors in making a life-altering decision. Damn it.)

Since I was off from work today (the old ladies at the neighborhood Super Mart would have to bag their own groceries tonight), I went directly home. I wanted to get as much of my stupid homework done as I could before Trowa texted me later. My dad was still at the office, so I grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and cracked my books open on the kitchen table. I was almost ready to shove my calculus homework down the garbage disposal when my iPhone buzzed with an incoming message.

It was from Trowa.

/All clear?/

/Clear enough. Who needs calculus, right?/

/Not I. I'm pretty sure all you need is Beowulf. He'll slay it for you. In extensively descriptive prose./

I laughed. /Been doing your homework, huh?/

/For better or worse./

I'd been sending him lists and links of the reading material I was doing in my classes over the past three years. He didn't have time to do all of the work, and he sure as hell wasn't writing papers on any of it or taking any exams, but we chatted about the stuff he managed to get through. I loved getting his take on it. Sometimes it was like talking to someone from another planet what with the weird ass, pure genius shit he'd come up with. Once or twice, I'd passed on points he'd raised to my classmates and teachers during actual class discussions just to see what happened. I never claimed the ideas as my own in my papers, or anything, but Trowa got a kick outta some of the reactions I'd reported back to him.

He sent me a second text message. /Beowulf needs to stop getting his friends killed./

/No kidding./ Being the last guy standing was not a ringing endorsement for a hero in my book.

/Actually, he reminds me of James Bond. Cocky and unbearable, but able to deliver./

I snorted. /Don't you dare let that psychopathic glory-seeking demon-fucker on your team./ I paused and then added, /Or Beowulf./ I wondered if my jab at Double-Oh Seven had made Trowa laugh.

He answered, /They'd make decent human shields./

I could imagine. Frowning, I typed out, /Just so long as you're not one of them./

/I'm always careful./

/And you're always Trowa. Even better! Hey, what would you do if you caught me giving you bunny ears in a photo?/

I sent that message and waited… and waited… and waited a bit more. I slouched back in the wooden chair, crossed my feet at the ankles, and tried not to acknowledge how nervous I was. I was flirting with Trowa. Flirting was off-limits. But I wasn't gonna back down now, so I prompted him with: /Shall I rephrase that in the form of a multiple choice question?/

/As long as A, B, and C involve a private room, lack of clothing, and a big bed./

I cackled gleefully. My hands trembled. /I'm thinkin' you're gonna go for "D, all of the above."/

/Yes./

I clenched my jaw. My fingers tightened around the phone. Jesus, I wanted him. /You still think about that night?/ I sent it before I could second guess myself.

/All the time./

I did, too. /Can I call you?/ I wanted to hear the sound of his voice so bad. So, so bad. Even if I'd only just talked to him last weekend. It was rare that he had the privacy to speak to me but when he did his voice dropped into a low register that was reserved for moonlight and rumpled bed sheets. The topic, however mundane, was irrelevant. His voice was magic.

/I'm sorry. We're trekking to a new location now. I'm in the bakkie with Martins, Bryce, and the captain./

It took me a second before "bakkie" clicked: _a pickup truck._ Close quarters, that. Definitely not the place for a private conversation. I chuckled. /Ah./ I sent that and then typed out a second message. /On a scale of 1 to 10, how risky is this new job?/

/1.5/

/?/

/We've been grafted to guard some international company's apartment complex for the year. Cush job./

/Where?/

/Lagos./

I scowled. /That is not a "cush" place. You watch your ass, Tro, or I'll come over there and kick it./

/You make me laugh./

/Somebody has to./

There was a long pause after that and I wondered if he was having the same kinda trouble I was breathing around the _whatever_ that was sitting in the center of my chest like a ton of bricks. I cleared my throat and typed in a new message.

/A 1-year contract, huh?/

/Tentatively. Renewable every 3 months./

/Good, 'cuz I've got an offer for you, Trowa Barton./

/?/

/From June. Including room and board./

When he didn't jump to reply, I quickly texted, /Just think about it./

/You're all I think about./ This reply popped up with satisfying speed. /The guys are getting siek-n-sat of all my daydreaming./

/I feel your pain. My classmates have been demanding proof of your existence./

/A photo? ? ?/

_Three_ question marks. Holy crap. I could just imagine the wide-eyed look on his face and the sweat dewing at his temples: Tro-caught-in-the-headlights-of-oncoming-destiny.

I quickly answered. /Don't worry about it. I'm stronger than their peer pressure./ I sent that and then added with blunt honesty, /Besides, if you really were just a figment of my imagination, you wouldn't be halfway around the damn world, headed for Nigeria./

/In that case, I almost wish this was a dream./

I grinned. It wasn't a promise to take me up on my offer in six months, but it was _promising._

I startled as I heard the rattle and slide of the key in the front door. /Dad's home. Watch your back, Tro, and all the other bits, too./

/Always./

I slid the phone back in my pocket just as my dad entered the kitchen. "Which friend was that?" he asked, loosening his tie.

"Trowa," I answered. I wondered if he was asking out of habit or because he was holding out hope that I was finally showing an interest in one of the girls from school.

"Didn't you speak with him just last weekend?"

I tracked his movements as he pulled down a tumbler from the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water. "Yeah," I said. I didn't tell him that I was in contact with Trowa just about every day. That might freak him out a little bit. It was one thing for me to be helping Trowa with his education. I wasn't sure how he'd take it if he figured out we were joined at the digital hip. I said, "You know I send him my school assignments. When he has time, we go over 'em."

My dad turned and smiled at me. I smiled back. "You're a good friend, Dominic. I'm proud of you." I grinned wider as he patted my shoulder. "How's your schoolwork coming along?"

I shrugged. "Calculus makes me feel like I'm a couple evolutionary steps down from an amoeba. Other than that, I'm great."

He chuckled. "So I see."

"How was work?" I probed, wondering how much of a holiday we were gonna have this year. Christmas was always hard what with mom and Solo being gone. Even though their Cessna had gone down in Kamchatka something like eight years ago, it was still a bitch and a half getting through those damn family holidays. Dad and I traveled a lot doing the tourist thing, mostly to escape how empty it was here at home. Twice since Egypt, we'd gone to other dig sites, one in Peru up in the Andes and another in the Arizona desert. My chest ached at the memory of how painfully similar but how agonizingly different the Mohave had been from the Sahara.

"Work is manageable," my dad answered, giving me a smile that I recognized. It was the same one he'd given me before announcing that I was going to Egypt with him to see an actual dig site at an ancient tomb. Three years ago. Where I'd met Trowa. I _knew_ that my dad wasn't about to suggest a trip to visit _him,_ but my heart started racing so fast it just about caused my chest to explode. Whatever he had planned was gonna be special; the Andes and Arizona sites hadn't warranted the ol' grin-an'-sparkle.

"And?" I pressed, feeling my hands fist.

By way of answer, he fished out an envelope from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and placed it on the table in front of me. I picked it up and blinked at the air tickets inside. "Vientiane, Laos?"

"Laos," he confirmed. "There's a site in the south I'd like to see, a place your mother was researching. What do you say we make a holiday of it?"

I grinned. "Bonus. This totally PWNs."

He laughed as he got up and pushed his chair in. He reached over and mussed my bangs. "If I'm not mistaken, that means I've just scored the game-winner."

"Big time, dad. Big time."

The buzz lasted long enough for him to give me the 101 on traveling to Southeast Asia. There'd be a medical checkup and vaccinations involved (whoo-hoo) but it wasn't like we'd never done that song and dance before. I got on the Internet and started looking up useful phrases in Lao for us to learn and I researched all those putzy-yet-strangely-exciting details like reliable transportation throughout the country, the dependability of emergency medical treatment, and the morbidly interesting tourist scams that were currently fleecing the unaware.

It wasn't until I'd relocated to my bedroom, iPhone in hand, and had just typed in a message to Trowa that my enthusiasm dulled and dimmed. /Dad and I are going to Laos in a ten days./ I stared at the text, wishing the letters would rearrange themselves, wishing there was a G in the name of our destination. Sighing, I sent it and then set my phone down before forcing myself to dive back into the eighth circle of hell, otherwise known as calculus.

About an hour later, just as I was starting to seriously consider burning my textbook and starting a movement to end the cruel and unusual torment that was _rampant _in the American school system, Trowa messaged me back. /That is not much of a holiday destination./

I scooped up my phone and swiveled around in my desk chair to kick my bedroom door shut. Y'know, just in case. /I know. I've been looking it up online. But we'll be fine. Dad knows judo and aikido./

/Stop joking about this./

/It's what I do!/

/Damn it. Now I know how you feel when I take on a new assignment./

I blinked at the phone screen. He was _worried _about me? Well. Would wonders never cease. I typed back, /Hey, you know you're the first person I'd call if I needed a lookout while I kicked someone's ass or encountered a jar of peanut butter I couldn't open or something./

/Ja, and I'll just wiggle my ears and magically appear./

/Can you do that?/

/Magically disappear and reappear? It's called stealth. Limited range only./

I snorted. /No, smartass. Wiggle your ears! Can you do that?/

/Can't everyone?/

/Um, NO./

/I guess that makes me special./

/No shit, Tro. Tell me something I didn't know five minutes ago./ I hit Send and then got one more comment out there before I could get too distracted imagining the endless possibilities concerning his wiggle-able ears. /Save your ears. Use a plane ticket./

/Easy for you to say./

I winced at the reminder of his troupe's financial insecurity. It tore me up that Trowa was risking his life every day _just to stay alive._ Those kinds of dangers ought to translate into something that would one day help him get _ahead _of the game. It was so unjust I could puke.

I told him, /I've been saving up my spare change./ I sent that and kept right on texting, /But I'm hoping to use it to invite you to my place for the indefinite future, so I'd better not have to kick ass or deal with any stuck jar lids while I'm there./

There was a long pause after I sent that. In fact, it was so long, I started swiveling my desk chair back and forth as I waited for his reply. And then, surprisingly, my iPhone rang. It was Trowa's number. Damn. He usually asked before he called. Or warned me. Or something.

"Trowa?" I asked, picking up.

"You thought you were texting someone else?"

Oooh, his voice. It was my drug of choice. "I was sure hoping I wasn't."

"Hm," he purred. He probably didn't mean for it to be a purr, but it freakin' came out like one.

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. "So, what's up, man?"

There was a beat of silence and then he murmured, "We ought to be having this conversation in person. Barring that, the sound of your voice will do."

"Conversation?" I squeaked. The hell? That sounded… fateful.

"'The indefinite future'?" he quoted, turning those three words into something that made my throat go dry, my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, and my heart pound painfully.

"Duo?" he prompted.

"Yeah. The indefinite future," I confirmed. "I, uh… You…" I took a deep breath and blurted, "Look, you're not about to break up with me, are you?" Shit. Could I sound any more pathetic?

"Break up with—!" He bit off whatever he was about to hiss next, paused, took a deep breath, and said, "No, I am _not _breaking up with you."

"Oh. Oh, that's good," I answered lamely, slumping bonelessly over my computer desk in relief. "I did tell you we were going steady, didn't I? At some point?"

"Not exactly," he replied. "But I sussed it out."

Yeah, it was pretty obvious how far gone I was for him. Still… "You realize how sexy your smart is, don't you?"

"Duo," he answered, a bit of a growl entering his tone. I shivered. "Are you asking me to come to the States to live with you… permanently?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause. "I can't do that."

"You can. If you want to." Oh, how I wanted him to.

"I'd need a visa and a miracle. My passport is good enough for travel within Africa and maybe other places with very loose standards for foreign visitors, but I'll never get through immigration in the States or Europe."

I took a deep breath. "Promise me you won't get mad," I intro'ed.

"What have you done?"

"I… I asked our family lawyer to set you up with all the right paperwork. He's just waiting for you to say yes, man."

"When did you do this?"

"Uh, a while ago."

"Duo," he insisted.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Right after we got back from Egypt."

He was silent for a long moment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You kept shooting me down every time I offered to put you up at me an' my dad's. But once I'm done with school this summer, he's goin' back to London and I was hoping… I mean, since my dad wouldn't be an issue, I thought maybe you'd…" I forced myself to shut up. I was not going to start whining. I was not.

"Are you sure? You want me t—" His voice actually broke. "—to live with you?"

"Hell yes, I'm sure. I've been sure for three damn years, Trowa." I took a deep breath and then I took the plunge. "I want you."

Suddenly, I was glad he could hear me. There was no way I wasn't blushing bright red right now, but my tone was factual, soft, and hopefully conveyed my need to just spend time with him. Yes, I had sex on the brain (who didn't at my age?!) but Trowa was my best friend and the distance between us has been slowly killing me ever since I'd forced myself to climb into the Jeep for the last time at Professor Merquise's dig site. I'd looked back until the camp had disappeared from view, wondering if I'd get one more glimpse of Trowa, waiting for him to burst out of one of the tents and… I dunno. Wave goodbye. Watch me go_. Something._

He still hadn't said anything, so I asked, my heart in my hands, "Are you gonna give me a shot?"

A weird, little sound echoed through the connection. Had he just hiccupped? I frowned and opened my mouth to ask if he was OK…

He inhaled sharply, like he was trying to suck the snot back into his nose. "D—uo," he said thickly.

"I know I'm asking you to leave your family behind, and that makes me the worst kind of selfish dick imaginable. I just…" I just had no idea how to convince him to be selfish and do something for _himself_ for a change. If he did, in fact, really want out of that life. Maybe he didn't. Maybe I was the only one who needed help here.

"Stop. Stop talking, Duo," he ordered softly, unevenly. "You're killing me with every bloody thing you say."

I bit back the apology that jumped up from my gut. I listened to the sound of heavy, uneven breaths and the rasp of cloth passing over skin, like he was wiping his face with his jacket sleeve. Shit; I'd made him cry.

I waited, wondering if he was gonna refuse me. I didn't know what I'd do if he did. Could we still be friends? Could we just go on like this? Forever? Could I just stand by and let him risk his life again and again when it was within my power to help him help himself?

Leaning back in my chair, I blinked up at the ceiling, hoping the heat in my eyes would evaporate harmlessly.

"Yes."

My heart stopped. "Yes?"

He took another breath and replied in a steady tone. "Yes, I'll go to America. Or wherever you're going to be. I'll be there."

I grinned up at the blurry ceiling. "Awesome. That's… that's awesome, Trowa. I'll tell Mr. Noventa to email you so he can update your visa application and stuff. It's still gotta go through the immigration offices and whatever—"

"What should I do?"

"Stay alive."

He laughed.

"I'm serious."

"I know," he replied, an apology in his tone. "But you worry too much."

"Well, I gotta do something with all this pent up energy. And if you suggest that I take up yoga, that'll only gonna give my wild imagination more material to work with." Which it did _not _need, thank you very much.

"Hm," he remarked, sounding amused, and then cleared his throat. "Duo, are you _sure…?"_

"Yes. But if you're not, don't tell me, 'K? You can break it to me after you get here."

He sighed. "Whatever happened to trusting me?"

"Dude. You did not just say that. I trust you like _whoa."_

He contemplated that for a minute before saying, "Do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Trust yourself."

I inhaled sharply. It was easy for him to say. He of the hotness and mad soldier skills, he of the super smarts and sharp wit, he of the depthless gentleness and warmth once you cracked his blank-faced armor, _he _didn't have anything to worry about. I was just a geeky rich kid with long hair and a crush that made me cream my pants twelve times a day (and that last point was probably a recognized medical condition).

Before I could argue, he told me, "I'll be with you soon. I promise."

No, it wasn't just a promise. It was a vow. I shuddered. "But the troupe…?"

"I go where I'm needed, where I want to be. I'll talk to the captain. He'll understand." I gulped, feeling so thankful I couldn't think of anything to say. Trowa continued, "What's more, I don't think he'll even be surprised." He chuckled roughly, like he was tripping over another tear or two. "He'll be happy for me."

I would, too. I would be happy for him if he just got the hell outta there. The rest of it – the staying with me and the spending time together and the whatever else – didn't even come close. Even if I did fantasize about it waaaaay too much.

"I've never—" I took a deep breath. "It's never felt like this—" I stumbled again. "It's you, damn it," I told him. "You do this to me and don't you dare even think about apologizing for it."

"Turnabout is fair play," he rasped in reply.

I laughed, wiping at my cheeks with my sweater cuff. Christ. I was acting like a damn _girl._

"I have to go," he told me after a moment. "Pit stop's over."

"Back on the road again?"

"Yah."

"Wear your seatbelt."

"Yah, _auntie."_

I laughed and, on that note, we hung up. I clutched the phone in my hands. I was shaking. Jesus, this was the part where God looked down, noticed how peachy my life was, and decided to send a lightning bolt at the person I loved most in the whole damn world.

Yeah, it was true. I loved him. After three years, it was kind of inevitable. I hadn't told him yet, but he was a smart guy. I was pretty sure he'd already figured it out, maybe even before I had. I grinned. Yeah, I could always count on Trowa to know the score.

Hilde more or less pounced on me at school the next day, demanding an explanation for the goofy grin on my face. I confessed to the trip to Laos, but not the rest of it. I could tell she was suspicious that something else had happened, but I gave her my Grin of Titanium Stubbornness and she let it go in favor of hunting up Dorothy for a round of kissy face before the bell for first period rang.

Although, our exchange made me realize that didn't know exactly _why_ we were going to Laos in the first place. I mean, what was so great about that ruins or archeology site that had piqued my mom's interest? And then there was another point to consider: she'd been to dozens of ancient sites, so why was my dad so interested in seeing this one? I didn't have a chance to really ask him about it until we were already on the plane. (Well, OK, I could have _made _time and asked him sooner, but he couldn't squirm his way out of answering with some lame excuse about having to work or something once we were trapped in a pair of first class seats together. This was my chance and I went for it.)

I grabbed his complementary eye mask and headphones, fully prepared to negotiate their safe return for satisfactory answers to my questions. I suppose he _could_ rout my offensive by asking to borrow some from the heir-to-some-mega-company Chinese kid across the aisle, but the guy looked like he was wound up tighter than his shiny, black ponytail. My dad seemed to come to the same conclusion: he turned toward me with a long-suffering sigh.

I pounced. "Why was mom so interested in where we're going? And how come you've suddenly decided to go there?"

He leaned his head back against the high-tech headrest. "How did I know you wouldn't wait until we checked into the hotel?"

"Um, because I'm your son?"

"Right. There's that."

I waited for a second, giving him an expectant look. When he didn't volunteer the answers to my questions, I cleared my throat.

He blinked at me guilelessly. OK. Time to haul out the big guns. "Last chance to spill the beans or guess what I'm gonna tell the flight attendant is your _favorite food_ in the whole universe?"

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, Big D."

He laughed. It was an old joke between us. He was the "Big D" – "D" as in "dad" – and I was the "Little D" – "D" as in "Dominic." It'd been ages since we'd called each other that, though. Dinosaur ages. And I wasn't so little anymore. I kinda wondered how I measured up against Trowa now, actually. Damn. Imagining myself standing toe-to-toe with Trowa was _not _helping my concentration.

"All right, Dominic," my dad relented. "So long as I have your word that you will not ask the flight staff to set aside a chicken dinner for me."

I smirked. I knew he hated airline chicken with a _passion._ The things you learned about your parents when you were traveling, right?

He reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out his carry-on bag, tugging out a letter-sized manila envelope and handing it to me.

"You recall I went back to London last month?"

I nodded. The company's headquarters had been moved to New York when he'd married my mom, Helen, but they'd been in London for decades before that. It was still a huge office and he had to travel between the two about every six weeks. Once I started college, he'd be transferring himself back there permanently and reinstating it as HQ. Thank God he wasn't expecting me to team up with him and become the next Maxwell Mogul anymore. Corporate management was so far removed from my dream job it was laughable. That's why I'd stopped going on business trips with him last year. He'd finally believed me when I'd told him I was going to Columbia University for my undergrad degree in Egyptology. It was either that or I was gonna adopt no less than sixteen Pomeranians and name each and every one of them after him. As he was violently allergic to dogs, it was the perfect threat. And as he knew I'd rather gouge out my own eyes than make him miserable, he knew I meant business. I didn't know who the next Maxwell Mogul was gonna be, but it wasn't gonna be _me._

Sighing, he admitted, "While I was there, I drove out to the house."

The house. I could barely remember it. The last time I'd been there must have been when I was about seven years old. All I could recall about it was that it was massive and awesome and it had a dumbwaiter that I'd had an unnatural fascination with. Oh, and the groundskeeper geezer had been pretty cool. Freaky, but cool.

"Howard must've been happy to see ya," I remarked.

"We had a pint," my dad admitted and I could just imagine it: my dad with his shirt sleeves rolled up sitting across the island in the kitchen from a skinny, balding dude in sunglasses and an Aloha shirt, a couple beers sweating on the countertop. Hell, he might have even convinced my dad to blast a roach with him. Looking back on my memories of the man, he was a dead ringer for a pothead. Heh. Good ol' Howie. I hoped he was a not-so-good influence on my dad. The man needed to live a little.

He continued, "I went to your mother's library and looked through her notes, the ones in her safe."

I followed his gaze down to the unopened envelope in my hands. Spilling the contents onto my tray table, I squinted at page after page of sketches, diagrams, maps, and notes. "This isn't just for Laos," I realized, identifying something that looked Russian, something maybe Chinese, another something that had Mount Fuji labeled on it, various notes in Egyptian hieroglyphs and what looked like latitude and longitude coordinates (also written in ancient Egyptian). All kinds of crap.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "Helen loved history, but what captivated her was legend, mystery. And this is perhaps one of the most obscure of all. Of course she had to uncover it."

"What is it?"

"A gateway."

"Eh?"

"Legend has it that there exist gateways which connect our world to other dimensions."

I blinked at him. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "I'm simply repeating what's written there."

"And mom was looking for these?"

My dad nodded. "Yes, for nearly a decade. In fact, when she and Solo were—were killed, they'd been on their way back from the island of Sakhalin which is… here," he said, sifting through the yellowed pages and pulling out a map.

I studied it, frowning. "But their plane was found way up here, in Kamchatka. What were they doing so far northeast?"

When he didn't answer right away, I looked up. His expression was thoughtful and older than I could ever remember seeing. He'd met and married my mom late in life, but it kind of hit me suddenly that he wasn't in his prime anymore. My old man was, well, becoming an old man. He confided, "For a long time, I wondered about that, too. I suppose I wasn't ready to know, not until I went back to the house in November."

"So there _was _a reason?" I pressed.

"Oh, yes. Absolutely."

"But you're not going to tell me," I guessed wryly.

He nodded to the papers in my hands. "After you get through reading all that, I think you'll understand why I'm hesitating to share my suspicions."

I groaned. There must be something like fifty hand-written pages here, all with faded ink. Going through all this was gonna give me a monster migraine. "Oh, c'mon. Gimme a preview."

He shook his head. "I'm not telling you because… it's completely crazy."

I smirked. "Crazy, huh? Well, mom always was one to think outside the box."

"As are you."

I looked up, startled by his somber tone.

The look on his face kind of scared me. It was so… vulnerable and sad and a billion other things… like he was watching his life flashing before his eyes. "You take after her in so many ways."

I gaped at him. I didn't have a single, solitary clue as to what I ought to say to that: uh… _thanks?_ I stared at him stupidly as he unbuckled his seatbelt and lurched into the aisle on the way to the lavatory. He almost bumped shoulders with another passenger, a tall man in his thirties with carefully styled, short auburn hair. There was something about him that caught the eye, something that made me think his silk dress shirt and swanky suit should have been breeches and a waistcoat from some long-forgotten aristocratic heyday.

"I beg your pardon," the man murmured politely as he passed my dad. He caught my gaze and gave me a bland smile before sliding into his seat which happened to be directly behind mine.

For some reason, I really didn't like knowing that he was possibly looking over my shoulder at my mom's legacy. I shuffled the pages together and hunched myself over the tray table as I began to read. I left the airline conveniences I'd been holding hostage on my dad's seat as a peace offering.

When my dad came back, he didn't say anything about the release of his sleep aids. He put on his eye mask and plopped his headphones on. I let him rest. I was busy being impressed, amazed, and terrified. Jesus Christ. My mom's notes made it sound like she'd really _believed _that there were portals to other worlds right here on Earth but, according to her research, only one had the potential to unleash a power of destruction that would be undefeatable.

_"I must find the key,"_ she'd written, her handwriting turning into a scrawl in her passion or haste or fear or excitement. I would never know which._ "Even one of its halves would suffice. The portal is nothing without the key."_

The key. Well, I guess it'd be pretty irresponsible to leave a gateway like this hanging open somewhere unlocked.

I shook myself. Did I honestly believe there actually was a mystical, God-power gateway that needed to be locked shut with a key? This was nuts. Nuts, but apparently the reason for why I'd just gotten vaccinated six ways to Sunday.

I continued reading, getting caught up in my mom's passionate narrative. It was disturbing on so many levels: I'd never even _guessed _that she'd felt so strongly about anything. It made me wonder what else I hadn't known about her, what else she might have kept hidden from me. It made me wonder if my life, if the _world,_ really was the open book I'd always assumed it was. I felt naïve. I didn't like it.

I could kinda see why dad had wanted to tell me this after we'd gotten to the hotel. International flights weren't the best places for life-altering epiphanies.

Speaking of epiphanies, my mother seemed to have experienced one on the final page of her notes:

_"This portal must **never** be opened. It will be the end of everything. If even one half of the key can be destroyed, then it will be impossible to open the gateway and the power within will never be permitted to be unleashed."_

I squinted at the attached scrap of paper. On it was a partial translation of what looked like Chinese characters. She'd written as many as five words in places, scratching them out, unsatisfied. Words like "universe", "mirror image", "polar opposite", "annihilation", and "unstoppable" were barely legible. Looking at the attempt at translation, I could kinda see why she'd decided that the portal was best left alone and unopened, wherever it was. But, what was more, she wanted to _make sure_ that it could never be opened.

As I flipped through the papers, my gaze snagged on a map of a long island north of Japan and east of the Korean peninsula: Sakhalin. With a flash of insight, I realized that she'd gone there with Solo to find one of the halves of the key to destroy it. I thought back to the crash in Kamchatka. There were a lot of volcanoes there in northeastern Russia, active ones. Had she found what she was looking for on Sakhalin and then been planning on dropping it into the mouth of a volcano?

Dude. How _Lord of the Rings _was that?

Dad was right; this was _crazy._ But why else would she have chartered a Cessna and flown up there if it hadn't been for the purpose of destroying this evil key thing?

Still, if one of the halves of the key had already been destroyed, then there'd be no point in taking this trip to Laos. Which meant that my dad believed that the first half of the key was still out there somewhere. Why he believed this I wasn't sure. For the first time, I wondered about the forensic aspects of the plane crash. Had it gone down on their way _to _the volcanoes or on its way back? Had one of the halves of the key turned up somewhere and that's what had prompted dad to schedule this trip?

I glanced at him, scowling when he snorted out a snore in his sleep. Damn it. I guess I'd have to wait for answers.

And then I laughed at myself. Christ, I was acting like I _believed _this shit. Oh, man. I needed to have my head checked. There was no such thing as a mystical portal of doom, no halves of a strange key. This was a myth, a legend. That's all. I glanced at my dad again and shook my head ruefully. We weren't heading to Laos because he'd fallen into the same trap as my mom. But if that wasn't the reason, then what was?

As I shuffled all the notes back together and slipped the manila envelope into my backpack, I contemplated my dad's motivations for doing this. He wasn't young anymore. I'd noticed how his business shirts were getting looser and looser in the neck; he was losing muscle and strength of body. Maybe he was afraid he was starting to get too old for these jaunts around the globe on exotic, off-the-beaten-path excursions. Maybe he was thinking about his own mortality and wondering if there might be something mystical and metaphysical out there in the world. Maybe he just wanted to feel closer to my mom and this adventure was meant to accomplish that somehow.

Well, whatever the reason, we were headed for the ruins of a forgotten temple in Southern Laos where my mom's notes speculated that one half of this mysterious key might be hidden. There were several other locations that were likely candidates. Nine in total. They all met one of two vague, archaic geographical descriptions that had been left behind by some unknown guardian centuries ago. Nine locations and two halves of a key which was necessary to open a terrible portal somewhere on Earth.

The scary part was my mom had seemed to think she'd known where that specific gateway was, but she had refused to name the location. I was sure it was in these notes, though. Maybe in some kind of code.

Well, anyway. I knew she'd looked in at least one of these places. Sakhalin was one of the likely candidates for the first part of the key, so I was pretty sure that the trip she and Solo had taken there had been an expedition to search for it. I doubted that they'd actually found anything, though. I mean, if they had, then this artifact thing (or some record of its discovery at least) would have ended up getting shipped back to the States with all their other stuff. Well, what could be salvaged from the Cessna's wreckage, anyway. Unless the plane had gone down _after_ my mom had disposed of the artifact. But what if the Cessna had crashed on the outbound portion of the flight?

I frowned. Was it possible that the key was not only a real _thing_ but was even now lying somewhere in the mountains of Russia's most northeastern peninsula? Well, even if it was just sitting on a patch of grass or buried under loose rock, how would anyone recognize it as a key? "Key" was a pretty general term and, given that this legend predated modern locks and keys, it probably wouldn't be recognizable as a key to most people.

Maybe that was why we were going to Laos first? If we found _that _half of the key, then we'd probably have a better idea of what the other half of it looked like. Hm, yes. That sounded like a definite possibility.

And then I turned and let my head fall heavily against the wall of the plane. Dammit, I was buying into the legend thing again. I sighed.

Well, OK, I wasn't _buying into it, _per se, but my mom had believed it was real, and if this was a quest to understand her obsession with it, then I guess it was safe to assume that the artifacts themselves were real even if the legend aspect was just a story meant to scare the kiddies around the primeval campfire.

I tried to sleep, but I just couldn't get my brain to shut off. I kept thinking about obsessions and legends and plane crashes. Can you blame me for not taking advantage of all the comforts first class had to offer? It was a relief to feel the skid and rush of landing and be able to shuffle off of the damn thing.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I followed my dad toward immigration. The phrases I'd learned in Lao weren't really needed; the immigration officer spoke English as did the customs dude. It looked like the taxi was my last chance to prove my language prowess. Which I did. In epic style, naturally.

"Where would I be without you, Dominic?" my dad asked as we pulled up in front of our hotel.

I smirked. "Pantomiming in the backseat."

He chuckled.

We had a single suitcase apiece which we wheeled into the lobby of the modest and slightly worse-for-wear establishment. Maybe it was weird that we'd arrived in first class and then made reservations at a mid-level tourist factory like this, but it was all about priorities. They were, in fact, the same priorities that made me buy a junker car for my first vehicle and work at the Super Mart to help pay for my car insurance and maintenance. Oh and the cell phone bills for both my service contract and Trowa's. It's kinda hard to explain, but it comes down to being _real,_ I guess. I didn't want to be one of those snobby rich people who didn't know how to change a flat tire or couldn't talk to people on the street. It was easy to lock ourselves in our bubbles of good fortune and ignore the rest of the universe. Too easy. I guess that made me a guy who liked a challenge.

A challenge. Yeah, I did like those. I thought about Trowa. I thought about when I'd arrived at Professor Merquise's dig site and had just about fallen out of the Jeep thanks to the deep depression on my side of car… and then I'd almost tripped over the sand wrapped around my shoes when I'd shut the car door behind me… _and_ _then _I'd practically had a heart attack when I'd looked up and found a soldier's blank-faced stare on the other end of my gaze.

Jesus, he'd scared the crap outta me. I hadn't even seen him when we'd driven up and parked, but there he was. Perfectly still, motionless, a statue. It hadn't been until his gaze had flickered down to my lucky T-shirt and his brows had twitched slightly that I'd realized he was only my age. My age and standing there with a semi-automatic rifle dangling from the shoulder strap across his chest.

He hadn't done or said anything, but I'd simply known I'd be making it my unofficial mission to figure him out while I was there. Little did I know I'd end up falling head over heels for the guy on the other side of those passive, green eyes. Passive. Hah. Trowa was passive like Kilimanjaro was a bump on the ground.

While I had the opportunity, I sent an email off to object of my thoughts, letting him know that a plethora of photos from Laos would be forthcoming so he might want to find an "Oh, shit!" handle to hang onto.

"Trowa again?" my dad mused in a too-casual tone as he unpacked and hung up his raincoat in the tiny closet by the room's door.

"Uh, yeah," I muttered, trying not to blush.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Mission Do Not Blush was failing. "Uh… like what?"

He gave me a look and one of those I'm-trying-not-to-smile smiles. When he glanced pointedly at the phone in my hand, I gave him a big, fake, cheesy grin. There was no reason for me to feel like he'd just walked in on me performing maintenance on the equipment I kept in my shorts. No reason at all.

"Nothing," he finally said, moving to put his shaving kit in the bathroom.

I let out a breath of relief. I was so not ready to have The Trowa Talk with him yet. Hell, maybe I wasn't _ever _gonna be ready to scale that father-son peak.

"Let's go see about our visitor permits at the park office," he said from the bathroom and I jumped up off the bed, stuffing my feet back into my Converse All-Stars.

"Sweet. Race ya to the lobby."

He reentered the main room and looked a little taken aback. "You're carrying your backpack around with you?"

I guess I didn't have to, but I didn't want to take the time necessary to dig my wallet and guidebook outta the damn thing. "It's my training for hiking through the jungle." I did the classic strong man pose and showed off my impressive biceps.

Dad looked heavenward as if divine intervention was hiding up there with the crispified bugs in the ceiling fan light. "What has the swim team done to my son?" he lamented.

"Less than the football team or the wrestling team or the basketball team would have. Or, worse yet: golf. Count your blessings."

We had a lot of daylight left of our first day in Laos after we exited the park office, our applications submitted and undergoing review. Our passes would be available after lunch the next day so I proposed a caffeine jolt followed by some touristy stuff. I took so many photos I was pretty sure my iPhone was going to explode before I could send them to Trowa.

When we dragged our asses back to the hotel that evening about an hour before sunset, the first thing I did was kick off my shoes. Then I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting until dad called dibs on the shower. I could tell from the way he didn't mention it that he knew I'd be sending photos off to Trowa as soon as he left the room. I focused on counting the dead bugs in the light fixture to keep from blushing _again._

As soon as the door closed behind him and the water started running, I had my iPhone in hand and was texting like mad, forwarding one photo after another. Around photo number twenty, I decided to give him a little time to digest those and I finished off my show-and-tell with a snappy line – "This program has been brought to you by way hella OMG too much caffeine. You're sorry you missed it, aren't ya?" – and then, just for the hell of it, I started scrolling through the photos myself. Gradually, I noticed something strange.

Sitting up, I squinted at the crowd of people in front of the temple that dad and I had visited. I went back to an earlier photo of an impressive memorial arch in the city and studied the faces in that crowd. Then I pulled up the photos I'd taken of the farmer's market we'd wandered through and…

I swallowed. The same faces were in _each _photo. What. The. Hell.

"Dominic?" my dad called from the bathroom and I just about jumped outta my skin.

"Yeah?"

"Did you go through my shaving kit?"

"No." And then I thought to ask, "Why?"

"It's a mess!"

I sat up straight and looked at our room with new eyes. Had our suitcases been moved? It sure looked like it. I got up and opened mine. Sure enough, the T-shirts I'd carefully rolled up and crammed into the space were all mashed and tangled together. Yeah, it was possible that customs had inspected my bag at the airport, but wouldn't they have put one of those nifty stickers on the outside if they had?

"Dad, I think you should check your bags."

He came out of the bathroom in his striped pajamas, frowning. "What?"

I gestured to my suitcase which was lying open on my bed. "Someone went through my stuff."

"Likely just a random security check at the airport."

"Yeah, but check yours, OK?"

I clutched my phone as I sat down on my bed, Indian-style, and watched him open his luggage. It looked like someone had stuck a live grenade in there and closed the suitcase back up. OK, _one _of our bags being selected for a random screening was possible, but both? It still wasn't impossible, but it was not nearly as likely.

Before I could prompt him, he reached for his carry-on bag. He frowned into its depths.

"Is everything there?" I asked.

He nodded. "But it's all jumbled up. Someone's been through our things."

Yeah. The state of his carry-on bag couldn't be explained by random airport passenger screening or a clumsy maid knocking it over while checking to see if we needed any towels. I decided that now would be a good time to mention the _other _thing. "Some people were following us around today," I told him, holding up my phone. "I got photos of them at the temple, the arch, and the market. Maybe the restaurant where we ate dinner, too. I haven't checked those pictures yet."

I looked at him, at a loss. He looked at me, a quiet horror widening his eyes.

"Dad?"

He held up a hand. "Let me think for a moment." Hesitantly, he reached for his cell phone and just stared at it, debating.

In my hands, my iPhone vibrated, just about scaring the bejesus outta me. It was Trowa and he was calling me.

"Hey, Tro. Can I call you back la—"

"No. I saw the photos. There were five men following you today."

_"Five!?"_ I'd only seen three.

"Yah. Professionals. Get out of there, Duo. _Now."_

I gulped. "Are… are you sure?"

_"What do I do for a living?"_ he just about snarled.

"OK, that was a stupid question," I admitted.

"Let me speak to your father."

I passed the phone to him. "It's Trowa. I sent him some photos. He picked out the guys following us today. We're in deep shit."

Normally, my dad would have scolded me for cussing, but he merely took the phone from me. "Mr. Barton, what do you advise?"

I would have given my braid to hear the conversation that transpired. Well, "conversation" wasn't the word for it. My dad mostly listened, nodded, and asked half-questions. He then handed my phone back to me and grabbed a change of clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

"Tro? Fill me in, man. What's the plan?"

"You need to leave as soon as possible. Get to the embassy or the airport. If they have your room wired, then they'll know that you suspect something, so you have to move fast. But, if they _haven't_ bugged your room, then you need to make sure you leave _quietly._ Travel light and leave under cover of darkness if possible. Take the back door, go over a couple of streets, get a car or a taxi, and call me when you're secure."

"OK."

"And don't forget your cell phone charger and adapter."

I was tearing through my backpack even as he spoke, looking for it. I dumped out my ebook reader and headphones and all the miscellaneous junk I'd carried onto the plane with me, stuffing my windbreaker, a hooded sweater, an extra pair of pants, some underwear and socks and a couple of T-shirts into the space in front of my mom's notes. "What're the odds that we're over-reacting? They could be government shadow guys, right? I heard tourists in China have to put up with that."

"If that were case, they wouldn't be carrying concealed weapons."

I hadn't noticed any weapons – concealed or otherwise – in the photos, but Trowa was the expert. Hell, the only reason I'd noticed the weapons that Trowa'd been carrying in Egypt was because I'd been looking for them. And, yeah, I'd been staring. It'd taken me a coupla days to figure out _why, _but I'd clued in eventually.

I said, "Ok, so maybe they're a group of muggers hoping for an easy score."

"Then you make it as difficult as possible for them to get to you. Bugger and fuck, Duo, people are _killed _in muggings!"

"Right. Point." I looked up as my dad came out of the bathroom, dressed for travel. "We're ready to go. I'll call you back in thirty minutes or something."

"Watch your back," he growled and hung up.

I hefted my backpack. My dad picked up his carry-on satchel. "Get the lights," he said quietly. I did. We waited, letting our eyes adjust to the low light from the north-facing window, and then he opened the door, checking along the hall before motioning for me to follow.

We headed for the stairs and took them down to the first floor. I was gonna feel really stupid if we were panicking over nothing, but if Trowa was worried… Well, I trusted his judgment.

We snuck out of the hotel like thieves, like cheats, like cheapskates. Under other circumstances, it might have been exhilarating. Y'know, before the guilt hit. Right now though, it was all I could do to keep from screaming as the tension tightened my guts into knots and bowties.

The emergency exit at the end of the hall beckoned even as it stretched out further and further in the distance with every silent step we took. It seemed to take for freakin' _ever_ just to get close enough to put my hands on the handle. I checked over my shoulder to make sure my dad was right there.

"I'm first," he whispered, stepping around me and opening the door, cutting off my half-formed thought about coming up with a game plan before the shit hit the fan.

All I could think of was the faces of the guys in the photos I'd taken. I'd noticed three of them, but Trowa had made five. The other two unknowns were seriously distracting me. I recalled a big, bald guy at one place, but couldn't recall seeing him anywhere else. And there'd been some college kid taking photos at two of the sightseeing spots, Japanese or Korean by the look of him, but he'd been minding his own business… hadn't he?

Well, I could kick myself for not getting a better look _later._

We stepped out into the alley and started for the furthest exit. I guessed Trowa had given my dad the same sales pitch about picking up a taxi from a completely different street. But, to do that, we'd have to cross a few major thoroughfares. The sun was setting. It was abnormally dark in the shadows but it seemed preternaturally bright out in the open by comparison. Two foreign tourists skulking out of a dark alley were so gonna draw attention.

At the alley entrance, my dad glanced up at the sky, frowned, and then gazed out at the street. There were two cabs in sight, idling in front of other hotels just across the street and down the block. I wasn't familiar enough with the cab culture here to be able to tell if they were available or not. My dad hesitated, probably thinking the same thing.

"I can't tell if they're waiting for a fare," I whispered, damning my useless tourist guide.

"It's too close to our hotel," he decided. "We'll cross the street and head down that alley there." He pointed and I nodded.

We waited until there was a break in the traffic and then we started jogging across the street, trying to look like we didn't wanna get mowed down by a passing mini-truck instead of running for our lives.

It was a moot point, anyway. A Jeep burst out of the alley we were headed for just as we reached the opposite side of the street. I back-peddled faster than my dad.

"Go! _Go, Dominic!"_ he hissed urgently and I sprinted down the sidewalk looking for another alley or a police station, a post office, or _anything _public and brightly lit and official. Or, hell, a shopping mall would do. _Someplace_ where we could lose these guys and have a nice selection of witnesses to choose from.

A shout from behind me had me glancing back and then skidding to a halt.

_"DAD!"_

He was struggling with two massive guys, and one of them was the bald dude I'd seen earlier. The other, I didn't recognize, but the driver of the Jeep looked familiar.

_"GO!"_ he shouted back.

I stood there, torn. I couldn't… I couldn't just _leave him!_

_"RUN, DOMINIC! NOW!"_

I shook my head. No. No, I was _not_ gonna—!

A second Jeep pulled up, jumping onto the curb behind me, caging me in. Two guys swung out of the vehicle and hit the ground running… right at me.

Oh, shit.

The only options I had were to try and find a door to disappear through on this block or take my chances in the evening traffic.

Exits. I needed _exits!_

I dived for the road just as the nearest guy reached out a hand to grab my arm. And then the whine of an approaching engine broke through my panic. Suddenly, a motorcycle was spinning off of the street and burning rubber in a tight arc between me and my would-be abductors.

"Get on!" the rider shouted and I had a brief impression of messy, brown hair, blue eyes, and vaguely Japanese features. The college kid tourist.

I hesitated. I didn't know who to trust, what to do, where to go.

"GET ON!" he demanded, revving the engine and pulling a gun from inside his jacket.

That decided me. I'd take my chances with the traffic.

"K'SO!" I heard his curse as I lurched-spun-dodged my way into the middle of the street. And, I wasn't sure if it was exceptionally bad timing or good timing, but a cab screeched to a horn-blaring halt right in front of me. I raised my hand and dived for the door.

The cabbie barked at me irritably as I slammed the door shut behind me. "Sorry! _Khaw thoht!"_ I choked out, gasping for breath. "Talat Sao!" I commanded, coughing up the first name of a shopping mall that came to mind as I dug out my wad of Lao kip bills.

His suspicious look melted into one of satisfaction. He was probably going to fleece me, but I couldn't bring myself to care. We sped away and I watched, helpless and furious, as my dad was shoved toward the first Jeep. The kid and the motorcycle were both gone. And then a livestock truck started gaining on the taxi from behind and blocked my view.

God _damn it!_

Shit. Shit shit shit.

FUCK!

I yanked my cell phone out of my pocket and started to dial Trowa's number. But no. No. Even though I wanted to call him first, by necessity he was gonna have to be second. There was nothing he could do for me right now except tell me to calm down and call for help.

I pulled up my contact list and dialed. It was the sound of my own breaths echoing back to me from the surface of the phone that made me realize I was hyperventilating.

I struggled for calm. I had to be calm. I had to get my dad back.

Right. OK. One step at a time.

"Noventa, Darlian, and Une," a pleasant voice announced.

"Sylvia!" I just about shouted. So much for calm. "It's Duo. I need your help. It's an emergency."

Mr. Noventa's granddaughter and intern didn't miss a beat. "All right. Take a deep breath, Duo. Good. Now let it out. Very good. Now, tell me what you need."

A freakin' miracle. "I need you to talk to someone for me. His name is Trowa Barton." I gave her his number and instructions for what she was going to do once she got ahold of him. "And I need you to put me through to your grandfather. _Now."_

"Done," she assured me and the line clicked as she transferred the call.

"Dominic?" I heard Mr. Noventa say, calm and steady. The man was a freakin' rock and I clung to him in lieu of the one voice that I desperately _needed _to hear. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

I took another deep breath and began what was bound to be a long explanation, "Dad's been abducted."

* * *

NOTES:

As far as I know, the tourist features (which are mentioned very vaguely) in Vientiane, Laos are accurate as is the name of currency, the shopping mall, and how to apologize in Lao (but I dropped the accents for the sake of avoiding text/character errors and funkiness). The park permit procedure is fictional. The number of taxicabs in the city might not be accurate (i.e. tuk-tuks might actually be more plentiful). (And, on the subject of taxis, in South Africa, a taxi is a minibus or a shuttle, not a single-fare car-for-hire like it is in the U.S., so when Trowa tells Duo to get a car, he means a taxicab, and when he says to get a taxi, he means a bus.)

Also, from what I've gathered online, I kind of doubt that the traffic in Vientiane is really terribly fast or that someone could be grabbed off the street like Duo's father, but just go with me here, people.

And, yes, that was a glimpse of Heero Yuy. We'll be hearing more from him later.

* * *

South African terms and slang:

Antie (spelled "auntie" in Duo's POV) = a bossy, female authority figure, like an aunt

"Bakkie" is South African slang for a pickup or utility truck. (I imagine that the Barton Troupe has several with lots of mounts for weaponry and such. Not that they'd drive around on public roads with guns mounted on their trucks, but they'd have that kind of equipment.)

Grafted = hired ("graft" means "work" or "to get work")

Siek-n-sat (siek en sat) = sick and tired (of something)

Suss = to look / to figure something out

Trek = to move or pull

Ja/Yah: In Trowa's POV comments and in text messages (any POV), I use the spelling "ja" (which means "yeah" or some variety of affirmative, casual response). However, in Duo's POV moments, when he hears Trowa say "ja", it's spelled "yah" because that's how it sounds to Duo.


	3. Ruins, Part 2

**Warnings:** alternate universe fic, language, shounen ai, **YAOI** (male/male sex), reference to yuri (female/female sexual relationship), angst, eventual character death & reference to torture

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot._ Without permission.

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Already, this fic is growing monstrous: As I mentioned before, "Ruins" is written in 3 parts. The following segment - "Appearances" - will definitely be 3 parts, too. And each part is about 10-12000 words. Ack. I iz ded.

Recommended theme music for "Ruins" - the album "What if" by Earlyrise (Check them out on CDbaby's online independent music store or iTunes.) Their lyrics have a straightforward, "young" quality to them that I think matches Duo and Trowa's ages. Plus, I really like their music style and composition.

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If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate posts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Ruins - Part 2: Travel & Touch"

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**Tomb Raiders: Ruins – Part 2** (Trowa POV)

I waited, perched on the edge of my bedroll, grasping my cell phone, willing it to ring. Duo had said he'd call in thirty minutes. I was counting them, enduring them, suffering them.

I had never been so bloody terrified and furious in my entire life.

I had never been so bloody thankful and relieved. Thankful for the phone Duo had given me. Relieved that I'd made a habit of reading his messages as soon as I got them. I only hoped it was going to make a difference.

What I'd told him was the truth. The men who showed up again and again on the fringes of his photographs were dangerous; they were mercenaries or rebels or professional kidnappers. The razor blades in my gut were tearing-slashing-ripping through me at the thought of what men like that could do to Duo and his father, even if they were only in it for the money like their counterparts in South America who grabbed prominent businessmen and ransomed them back to their corporate offices.

When the phone continued to not ring, I snarled at it and reached under my cot for my rucksack. It was packed, as always. Always be ready to move out. It was a rule we lived by. I dug into it, seeking out the "hidden" pocket that contained my savings. I confirmed that I still had it. I counted it. I put it in the concealed pocket of my jacket. I gripped the phone harder.

"Ring, damn you."

It did.

The buzz traveled all the way up my arm in the half second it took me to answer the call. I didn't even check the display before I pressed it to my ear. Other than the lawyer working on my visa, only Duo had this number and, at this precise moment, only Duo would be calling me.

_"Duo! Where are you?"_ I heard myself snarl.

A woman cleared her throat delicately. "Am I speaking with Mr. Trowa Barton?"

"What do you want?" I was busy. Duo could be trying to call me even now.

"My name is Sylvia Noventa. I'm an assistant with Noventa, Darlian, and Une. I'm calling on behalf of Mr. Dominic Maxwell. He has requested that I reserve a flight to Vientiane, Laos in your name."

I blinked. "What?" I blinked again, mind racing. I could think of more than one reason for why Duo would be arranging for me to fly to Laos, and none were pleasant. Before she could repeat all that, I cut in, "When did you hear from him?"

"Not two minutes ago, sir."

"I can't talk to you now," I informed her. If Duo was no longer speaking to this woman, then my call might get through.

"I understand your urgency, Mr. Barton, but if you're intending to contact Mr. Maxwell I doubt you'll be able to connect. He's currently on the line with Mr. Noventa."

"Fine. What's this about a flight?"

"He requests that you join him in Vientiane as soon as possible."

"Fine," I repeated, digging into my rucksack for my passport.

"How soon can you be at Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos?"

"Two hours," I answered. I was unsure if that was manageable, but I'd do it if I had to. Somehow.

"There's a flight leaving at 4:40 p.m. local time with transfers at Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and Bangkok, Thailand."

"I'll make it." I gave her my passport information, warning her to check that it would clear the airports on the itinerary.

"Expect a return call from me within the next twenty minutes," she advised and then, amazingly, she volunteered, "Mr. Maxwell has just hung up with Mr. Noventa."

"Thank you," I said and cut the connection. I stood up, selecting Duo's name from my meager contact list. I swung my rucksack onto my back as his phone began to ring.

"Trowa!"

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and just _thanked whatever powers there be_ that he was alive.

"Trowa?"

"I'm here. What's your status? Are you secure?"

"Um…"

That was not encouraging.

"I'm in a cab. Heading for a big shopping mall."

"What happened to the airport? The embassy?" I tightened my grip on the rucksack strap, trying to strangle my sudden impulse to throttle him.

"I'm not sure if I'll make it to either of those places, Tro. They—they took my dad. Grabbed him off the street right in front of me."

"Bugger and fuck!" I swore softly. If they'd dared an abduction in public – in broad daylight – then they would surely be watching the embassy and airport, the most likely places Duo would try to get to next, in an effort to intercept him.

"I'm coming to you, Duo." I was already heading out of the barracks we'd set up in the basement of the apartment building. I'd charged down here from the communal kitchen upstairs, leaving my rice and bredie uneaten when I'd realized what I was seeing in the photos he'd sent. I took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the kitchen and meeting thirteen pairs of wide eyes. "Hold on a moment."

I turned to the captain and assembled my ultimatums and arguments.

He held up a hand before I could even say a word and nodded toward Martins who was standing by the door, jangling a set of keys. "Go, Trowa. You call us when you can and give us your status."

I nodded my thanks and followed Martins out the door and over to the bakkie.

"Right," I told Duo, mindful of how low his cell phone's battery must be getting. "The shopping center is a good place to shake anyone tailing you—" If it was crowded. "—but make sure you know where the exits are and stay in areas with lots of people."

"Got it."

I tossed my rucksack onto the backseat and swung myself into the front as Martins turned the engine over. "And you're going to need a place to lay low tonight."

"I have an idea."

"Tell me."

"Charm a couple of college kids who are here for winter break into going clubbing together."

"Mind the exits and stick to bottled water. Don't let your drink out of your sight."

"I wasn't born yesterday."

"I'm focusing on making sure you live to see tomorrow."

He blew out a breath that was nearly an oath. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Never apologize for calling me." I didn't care that Martins was sitting right there, fighting with afternoon traffic for the sake of getting me to the airport in time to catch a flight I wasn't even sure I could make, listening in while I had an intense and intensely _personal_ conversation with my _maat._

"OK. I won't. I don't apologize for drinking outta the milk carton, either."

"I've been warned."

"You bet you have."

I let out a long breath. "Duo, you need to conserve your phone's battery."

"I know. I'm gonna shut it off once Sylvia calls me back with your itinerary, then I'll use it to send you and Marshall – er, Mr. Noventa, I mean – text updates on my location on the hour."

It was a good plan and I told him so.

He hesitated.

"What?"

"I'm sorry that jar of peanut butter kinda asploded all over the place."

I laughed. It sounded a little hysterical. Martins flinched. "Bugger all," I swore when my guffaws had faded into a strangled groan. "Just be careful. Change your appearance as much as you can. New clothes. Get a hat."

"I'll take my hair outta its braid."

I leaned my head back against the seat. I could imagine it. Fuck. Now was not the time to dwell on petty fantasies. "Call me if you need me," I told him.

"Isn't that what I'm in the process of doing?"

"Ja. Thank you." I did not have the words to thank him for giving me the means to come to his aid. It would have killed me to stay in Lagos while he was at risk.

"That's my line." He took a deep breath. "Look, Tro, if the worst happens, I want you to know that I—"

"Shut it," I snapped. "The worst is not going to happen. I will be with you by this time tomorrow come hell or high water. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

My fingers tightened around the phone. I knew I had to hang up but the sound of his voice was the only thing keeping me sane. "Promise you'll be careful. Promise you'll send updates every hour."

"I promise, Tro. You'll be seeing me soon."

"I know, Duo. Now hang up the phone."

"OK." He did.

I leaned my head back against the headrest, still clutching the phone in my hand. Martins didn't say a word as he pulled onto the highway and set a new land-speed record for diesel, off-road 4x4s.

Sylvia Noventa called me back about five minutes later and told me my ticket was waiting for me at the airline counter. I'd be arriving in Vientiane in sixteen hours. I was flying first class. I disconnected the call and laughed out loud until tears ran down my face.

Martins just let me get it all out of my system.

"You call for backup if you need it, Trowa," he told me, setting the parking brake at the international departures passenger drop-off. The engine chugged and rumbled, drawing looks from the people on the pavement.

I nodded.

He reached into his vest and held out a roll of U.S. bills to me. The U.S. dollar: it was the currency of choice on the international black market. "Don't you hesitate to use this and whatever you need to buy with it."

I took it and tucked it away.

"Leave your gear," he reminded me with a glance toward my feet. I yanked the utility knife from my boot, shoving both it and its sheath into the glove compartment. I hadn't been wearing my pistol or hunting knife when my phone had buzzed in my pocket two and a half hours ago. Two and a half hours ago: when I'd scrolled through Duo's photos, grinned at the commentary, and grown steadily more and more horrified as the same five men had tracked Duo to each location. I think I might have cursed. I knew I'd knocked my chair over when I'd launched myself away from the table and had torn out of the room with the phone already pressed to my ear and Duo's number dialing. I'd never done anything like that before and I knew I'd given the guys a skrik, but not one of them had tried to stop me or slow me down.

"Thanks, Martins."

"Play it safe, kid, and look after your man."

I didn't watch as he drove away. I had forty minutes to check in, get through security, and make it to my gate. Even when I was sitting in first class next to a very uncomfortable-looking businessman who was sweating in his designer necktie, my sense of urgency was not appeased. I itched to check my messages. I twitched every time the flight attendants came by to attend with their hot towels ("Lemon or lavender scented, sir?") and drink service (no, I would _not_ like to see the bloody wine menu; just go _away)._ I ate because I needed the calories. I closed my eyes because the pressurized air in the cabin was drying them out. I did not sleep. I couldn't.

Instead, I checked my wristwatch every five minutes, marking the hour and counting down to the mall closing time in Vientiane, imagining the group of college co-eds Duo had chosen to be his camouflage for the evening. I pictured him at a disco, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers, his hair long and flowing as he warmed a bankie at the bar, watching the dancers. Or maybe he was out there on the floor, his sinuous body swaying with the beat, his hips rocking, the lights pulsing over his upturned face and wild tresses.

I took a deep breath and let it out, willing the sudden, sharp spike of arousal to subside. It dulled a bit, but roared back to life as soon as I relaxed my guard and the image of Duo dancing in that dark and throbbing atmosphere descended upon me again.

Bugger and fuck. Duo was in serious trouble and I was sitting here getting hard thinking about him. Worse yet, I was doing it while imagining him doing something he would not find even remotely appealing; there was no way Duo would be up for a swaai what with his father in the hands of men with an unknown agenda. There was no way he'd throw caution to the wind and dance as if those same men weren't even now driving through the city streets looking for _him._ His father was missing, taken, being held against his will and before the night was out Duo might be joining them.

_Please, God. No._

I wanted him here, next to me or in my arms. I wanted him to be _safe._ I wanted that so badly I could taste it as thick as blood on my tongue. There was nothing I wouldn't give to have him so close his heat burned me like it had that night in Egypt_._ There was nothing I wouldn't do to be able to press my lips to his skin, to inhale his scent, to have his hair wrapped around my fingers… but imagining all that only led me to twist the moment into a dance of a different kind: a dance of hungry mouths clashing together, breath-to-breath, and frantic hands pushing clothing roughly aside until we were skin-to-skin. Out of desperation, I turned on my personal video unit and watched the most idiotic sitcom I could find. The canned laughter and forced lines distracted me from my hormone-driven thoughts until I was nauseous over the banality of pop culture.

Thankfully, I had to run to get through Ethiopian immigration and check in for my next flight aboard Bangkok Airways. I was exhausted and breathless when I buckled myself into the next first class seat I'd been assigned. I had a window this time and no neighbor to ignore.

There was just enough time before takeoff for me to check my messages and I slumped into my seat with relief at the sight of five updates, one for every hour I'd been forced to keep my cell phone shut off. I texted him back with my progress, ignoring the flight attendant's increasingly insistent reprimands until I'd finished the message.

Then we were airborne again. I leaned my head against the window, staring at the coming darkness beyond, sighing, hoping, _praying…_

I jerked awake at the feel of the landing gear connecting with tarmac. Blinking at the weak light of dawn through the window, I checked my wristwatch and factored in the time difference. I was almost there.

I gathered up my passport and landing permission card for a second time, checked my messages again while I waited in line for my turn through immigration, and found myself with nine additional updates from Duo. He was still all right.

Relief had never tasted sweeter.

And I only had a two-hour layover plus a one-hour flight to endure before I reached him. I stopped at the money exchange and then I hunted up the airport shower rooms and got cleaned up. I gulped down two large, overpriced and over-brewed cups of coffee and paced in front of the gate until boarding was called.

Finally, I found myself in a cramped, vinyl-covered seat. The plane to Vientiane was small, little more than a puddle-jumper, so first class was a ridiculous distinction on a craft of these dimensions. I was thankful for the lack of food in my stomach when the plane hit turbulence and then the pilot made the executive decision to cut the engine every two minutes for twenty seconds at a time to save fuel during landing.

I staggered off the plane and forced down some water to settle my stomach while I waited for the luggage carrousel to either deliver my rucksack or not. Somehow, the bloody thing had managed to follow me here despite my late arrival in Lagos and immediately connecting flight at Addis Ababa. I checked my messages constantly. The most recent text from Duo warned that his cell phone battery was dying but that he was safe in a place with lots of people, a shopping center where he was determinedly striving for anonymity after a night out clubbing with some French university students who'd come to the city on holiday.

I took a taxicab there, paid the driver, and leaped out of the car before the wheels had come to a complete halt. I had to forcibly restrain myself from running through the building to get to the food court on the second level. Clutching the strap of my rucksack, wishing I'd been able to bring my knives with me, planning which weapons to purchase now that I was here, wondering if Duo was going to recognize me (all right, it was a given that he would; I suppose what I was really anxious about was what sort of reception to expect), I scanned the sea of plastic seats and Formica tables… until I spotted a lone figure slumped over a counter by the glass windows overlooking the main entrance.

From a distance, it was easy to discount the lithe form as female what with the curtain of long hair rippling down over his shoulders and arms, past his hips. Seeing him with it undone was several hundred times better than the pale imitation that my mind had supplied. It also amazed me that he hadn't been cornered and caught yet. That hair made him _more _noticeable, not less. I should have recommended that he tuck his braid into the collar of his jacket instead.

I approached him from the side slowly. The closer I got, the better able I was to see his expression. There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His skin had a greyish cast from lack of sleep. No, Duo had not danced last night. He'd probably sat in a shadowy corner, clutching his bottled water as he tried not to sob out every wave of helplessness, loss, and terror.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked from little more than an arm's length away.

"Hm? Yeah," he mumbled, blinking slowly, "'m waitin' f'r someone."

I grinned with relief even as I was saddened by his pallor and exhaustion. He was at the end of his strength. "Would his name be 'Trowa' by any chance?"

He stiffened and snapped to attention, his tired eyes widening as he turned toward me. My rucksack slid from my shoulder and onto the floor. He nearly overturned the bankie in his haste to stand.

"Oh, shit," he moaned softly, closing his eyes against what I guessed was a wave of dizziness.

"Shh," I shushed him, stepping forward and placing my hands on his shoulders to steady him… and he leaned into my grasp trustingly, so trustingly. For a moment, I wondered if the past three years had really happened at all. For a moment, I thought I was back in Egypt, crouching under a sail in an earthen stairwell between life (above) and death (below).

"You're here," he murmured against my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around his trembling form, holding him upright. "I'm here. Point me in the direction of this dastardly peanut butter jar."

He wheezed out a laugh against my jacket. "Too tired to point," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Tro."

"Shh," I soothed again, rubbing his back and continuing to scan the food court for familiar faces.

He continued as if I hadn't made a sound, "I had this great reunion moment all planned out: the whole running across the field of wild flowers in slow motion thing."

"You did not," I accused, grinning.

"Well, OK, I didn't. But there was gonna be kissing. Lots of it. And look – I've screwed it up. Can't remember when I last brushed my teeth. My mouth is furry, moldy, eugh. I gross myself out."

I bit down on my laughter and pressed my lips to his temple. "C'mon. Let's find you a toothbrush and a bed."

"Hm'K."

I picked up his backpack and helped him thread his arms through the straps then I swung my own pack over my shoulder. I found us another car and a hotel with a functioning fire escape and several nearby hiding places. I sat Duo on the closed toilet in the bathroom of our room and curled his fingers around a toothpaste-bearing toothbrush. I stood by with a cup of water (from a bottle, not from the tap) so he could rinse and I gathered his hair away from his face while he spat in the sink.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

He shook his head and collapsed face-down on the bed. I took the liberty of removing his white canvas and rubber-soled takkies. Even before I started unlacing the second one, he was out like a light. Eying the mass of hair that was probably going to strangle him if he rolled over in his sleep, I set about braiding it for him, using the drawstring I pulled from my jacket collar to tie off the end.

I went through his windbreaker pockets and found his cell phone. As it was the same model as mine, I plugged it in to recharge with my cord and adapter kit. My phone's battery was also getting low, but his was a higher priority and it didn't feel right digging through his backpack without his permission for it. I called the captain in order to let him and the others know I'd arrived and acquired Duo. That accomplished, I debated what should come next. Rest, probably. When he woke up, Duo was going to want to get started on looking for his father.

That wasn't what he _ought_ to be doing, of course. He ought to be booking a seat on a flight home and figuring out a strategy for getting himself to the airport without being intercepted. I sighed as I imagined that oncoming argument.

Perhaps it was pure selfishness, or perhaps I sensed it was a tactical advantage… Regardless of the motivation, I lay down next to Duo on the warped double bed instead of isolating myself on the room's second battered mattress and threadbare quilt.

I didn't try to touch him. I just lay on my back and rolled my head to the side so I could watch him sleep. He'd gotten taller in the past three years, as tall as I was. His shoulders were broader than when I'd last seen him; his arms were longer and well-muscled; his face had thinned. His lips still looked kissably soft and I could count a number of pale freckles on his nose. I dropped my gaze to his hand which was lying between us on the bed. I remembered how he'd played with my hair that night in Egypt, how he'd gripped my shoulder, cupped my chin, curled his fingers into the back of my jacket when we'd embraced for the last time.

I lay beside him, comparing my memory and the reality. His slow steady breaths mesmerized me, beckoned me. Given the circumstances, I knew I shouldn't want him, but I did. Sighing, I shut my eyes, seeking a moment's respite from the relentless desire.

I opened my eyes when the mattress dipped. It was dark in the room – night had fallen – and there was only the orangey glow of the weak nightlight to see by.

"Sorry," Duo mouthed, breath minty fresh again. I tracked his movements as he crawled back onto the bed and lay down on his side, facing me. I listened to the final gurgle of the toilet bowl refilling and then the only sounds were of his quiet breathing and the intermittent traffic on the street three stories below our room.

"I switched our phones. Yours is charging." He spoke quietly, as if whispers didn't count as waking moments.

I reached out an open hand to him, palm-up, upon the rumpled quilt. I was hoping he'd give me his. Instead, he scooted his entire body closer until his head was resting on my outstretched arm and his hands were curled up between our chests. I leaned forward and inhaled the scent off his skin. God how I'd missed him. I was not going to be able to go another three years without seeing him again.

The movement pressed his knuckles against the center of my chest and his hands shifted, turning so that his fingers could trace the outline of the pendant I still wore beneath my shirt.

He didn't say anything. He just looked into my eyes as his fingertips danced over the necklace, occasionally brushing against my skin through the fabric of my long-sleeved undershirt.

"Duo," I warned him, shuddering at the delicate touches.

"I think this is the part where we kiss," he confided on a breath.

It killed me to do it, but I had to roll away from him and sit up on the edge of the bed. "No, this is the part where we're smart," I replied. "The kissing comes later." I tacked that on so he'd understand that I wasn't refusing out of lack of desire but out of a sense of duty.

"I'm not going to like this smart business, am I?" he guessed in a droll tone.

"No, you're not."

"Well, let's have it then." He rolled onto his back, waving a hand in invitation for me to give it my best try. "Spit it out so I can convince you to do things my way and we can get on with mayhem and rescue and heroes' rewards and all that."

I grinned at him over my shoulder. "That's a busy schedule."

"Making up for lost time."

His eyes twinkled at me in the low light and I almost caved. Almost. I sighed. "Duo, you need to get out of the country. Go home and hire a kidnap and ransom expert to get your father back. You staying here…" I shook my head. "It's only going to make things worse for your father."

It was his turn to sigh now. He slid up next to me, lying on his stomach and bracing himself up on his elbows. "There hasn't been a ransom demand. I just checked with Marshall Noventa."

I glanced at my wristwatch. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Lord Maxwell's abduction. If the kidnappers were in it for the money, then contact would have been made by now.

Duo continued, "He's contacted the local police here, but there's not much they can do except keep an eye out for my dad and the guys in my photos."

Translation: _if you ever see your father alive again, it won't be because we found him for you._ Bugger. I ran a hand through my hair. Without a ransom demand or the aid of local law enforcement, we were well and truly on our own and starting from square one. Lord Maxwell was as lost now as he had been the minute he'd been forced into his abductors' vehicle.

Duo seemed to agree with my silent assessment. "Besides, it's not money they want. They went through our stuff while we were out, looking for something."

"Any idea what?"

"Maybe. They didn't take anything, so it must have been something we had with us while we were wandering around the city."

I waited for him to elaborate. From his tone and the hunched quality of his shoulders, I knew he knew what it was.

He made an exasperated sound and hung his head. "My mom was obsessed with this crazy myth before she and Solo died. Dad brought me here to try to finish her quest." He lifted his hands and made the double quotes gesture, mocking the last word. Then he dropped his head and pressed the heel of each hand to his eyes; he didn't have the energy to mock anything or anyone for any appreciable length of time. "I've got all her notes and stuff in my bag," he mumbled. "That must be what they wanted. And, not finding it, they took my dad. They're probably gonna make him tell them what she wrote about and after he does – after they either find or don't find what they're lookin' for – they'll…" Duo took a shuddering breath. "He won't be very useful to them, will he?"

"Duo." I turned toward him, bumping his forearm with my knee. "What was your mother looking for?"

"Long story short? She was looking for a kind of ancient portal that was hiding a weapon, something that was unbeatable. She was gonna destroy it, or at least make it so no one could ever open the gateway and get to it."

I rubbed a hand over my face, ignoring the beard stubble on my jaw. "Fuck," I remarked quietly.

Duo blinked up at me, frowning. "You're not gonna tell me you actually believe this crap, are you?"

"No, but if that's what these people want, then _they _believe it, and they've kidnapped a man to get it. That tells us how high a value they've placed on acquiring it." I didn't like it, but Duo's assessment of his father's usefulness was sounding more and more accurate. It didn't help that all this had happened in a part of the world where the value of a single human life was oftentimes pathetically miniscule.

I didn't say anything in reply to Duo's dread-filled silence. I didn't have an argument to offer or additional support to add. I felt his gaze on me as I headed for the bathroom to take care of my own sticky mouth and full bladder. When I returned, I left the bathroom light on and the door open. Duo was standing next to the room's single window, his arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder and the side of his head pressed against the scuffed wall. The sun-rotted curtains were still shut but he was staring out at the darkness through a one-centimeter break between the edge of the fabric and the window frame. I checked the time. It was after midnight.

"We should try to sleep a little more," I recommended, hesitating at the foot of the bed.

"Can't," he breathed.

I re-sorted our priorities. "Then let's talk about what comes next."

"I'm not leaving without my dad and I'm not going to sit around while other people go out and look for him." The look he sent my way told me wasn't referring to the police. It also told me he would not be budged from this resolution.

I'd expected no less. I could insist on fighting him. I could tie him up and deliver him to the airport. I could even buckle him into a first class seat back to New York, but he'd find a way off the plane and back onto the streets of Vientiane where he'd not only be an open target but even more determined to go through with some bosbefok rescue operation on his own. I couldn't let him do that. Damaging his trust in me would only make things worse at this point.

"Tell me what happened," I coaxed, leaning back against the single chest of dinged up drawers which also held a small analog television and a lamp. "Start with your arrival at the airport. Was anyone watching you there?"

He shook his head. "I didn't notice. Maybe."

I stayed silent as he organized his thoughts and then gave me a report on his first day in the city. It wasn't until he got to the actual abduction part of the events that he began to be affected. He scowled. He spoke through gritted teeth. His fingers dug into his own crossed arms. I ached for him, but I needed to hear it all without interruptions or distractions.

"Then the college kid – dark, messy hair and blue eyes, I think he mighta been Japanese because he cussed in Japanese – pulls up on this motorbike and tells me to get on. I recognized him from earlier so I wasn't sure if he was with them or had his own agenda, y'know? Anyway, he pulled out a gun and aimed it at the guys from the Jeep and I…" He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and rasped in a disgusted whisper, "I ran. I fucking _ran away."_

I pushed myself away from the furniture I was holding in place and approached him.

"And I fucking _watched_ from the backseat of the taxi. I watched them force my dad into their Jeep and I didn't do _anything!"_

Slowly, I reached out and put my hand on his arm. When he didn't flinch away or shrug me off, I reaffirmed my grip and pulled him toward me, wrapping my arms around him. He was quivering with rage. His short fingernails were close to puncturing the skin of his own arms. I reached up and gently guided his head to my shoulder.

"Scream if you want to, Duo." He shook his head. I insisted, "Then cry or curse or hit me." He could donner me black and blue if it would just ease some of the guilt and anguish.

He shook his head again. His refusal to deal with his own guilt and rage was going to be a hindrance once the sun came up and the next step was ready and waiting to be taken.

With a monumental effort, he took a deep breath and I felt him center himself, felt the muscles beneath my hands shed a measure of tension as he locked all the pain away deep inside where it was going to fester until something triggered it and caused an explosion.

"Duo, please," I all but begged.

"I'm fine." He tried to take a step back. I tightened my arms around him.

He looked up, frowning with confusion, his lips parted with a question.

I interrupted him. "This is the part where we kiss," I informed him and leaned in to press my mouth to his. For a moment, he stood frozen, letting me gracelessly mash our lips together. And then he jerked in my embrace, angled his head to the side and opened to me.

_Oh God._

My brain liquefied at the feel of his tongue – hot, wet, supple – surging past my lips. How had I survived the past three years without this? Without him?

His arms unlocked from the knotted barrier between our chests and then his hands were gripping the back of my waistband, pulling my hips forward to meet his in a rough, almost punishing rub that made me gasp. He groaned in reply, pulling back from my lips just enough to entice me to follow him. I did, stretching forward to brush my lips against his once, twice, three times—

"Trowa," he moaned pleadingly.

I licked and nibbled at his lips, remembering what he'd taught me once upon a night in Egypt, using breath and beard stubble to relearn him. My fingers slid into his hair, holding his head at the angle I preferred as I teased him again and again like he'd teased me time after time: every text message, every syllable that had tumbled off his tongue long-distance, each photo of himself – few and far between – that he'd sent me, every smile I couldn't touch, couldn't see blossom with my own eyes… I was done with this teasing, with the half-life we were living. I now took my revenge on fate and it was so very sweet, hot, spicy, _him._

He clawed at my shirt, his nails dragging across my lower back and making me shudder. His hips rubbed against mine in helpless, mindless, instinctive thrusts, and I could feel him hardening. I was aching for him, for this, for more. I kissed him deeply, loving his flavor, awed that he permitted me the taste of him at all.

His hands fought their way beneath my shirt and I shouted into his mouth at the first touch of soft fingertips upon tender skin. I pulled back, tilting my chin up and gritting my teeth at the ceiling, heart pounding. It was too much but I couldn't bring myself to let him go, to take a step back and try to calm myself.

That half-formed intention was obliterated by the feel of Duo's breath on my throat, his lips dragging up the line of my pulse. I pulled him closer – _"Uhnn, Duo…"_ – and tilted my head to allow him full range. He nuzzled and kissed his way up to my ear and then under my chin, pulling my hips against his forcefully in a grinding rhythm and I thought about the disco, the dance floor. Duo was dancing with me. With _me._

And then I felt one hand retreat from my lower back and reach between our hard lengths. I gasped, choked on my next breath and just tried to process the fact that Duo was fumbling with the fastenings of his denims.

_Oh God._

I stumbled back, pulling him with me; marveling at his heavy-lidded gaze, his eyes so dark with lust; panting at the sight of his wet, full lips; flushing from the pit of my stomach outward in a hot, relentless wave at the glimpse of his pale fingers yanking open the buttons on his fly. I tugged him toward the bed and we tumbled down on our sides, facing each other. I scrambled for his hands, grasping his wrists and stilling his movements.

"Let me," I implored.

His fingers twitched. His hips rolled invitingly. He groaned. He pulled his hands away from himself, trusting me.

I rose over him, one knee sliding between his as I nudged him onto his back. Bracing myself up on one arm, I placed my open palm below the small indentation at the base of his throat and between his collarbones. His pulse shuddered wildly beneath the pad of my ring finger. I watched him watching me, both of us panting, and then I ran my hand slowly down his chest, brushing a stiff nipple through the fabric of his T-shirt and relishing his startled gasp. I pressed my palm to his taut belly and lower. He arched mindlessly with a mouth-wateringly supple movement of his spine. I forced myself to move slowly, deliberately tending to the remaining buttons on his pants, counting the tiny, impatient noises he was making.

His hands, which had been roaming up my arms and around my shoulders, tightened as he rolled his hips again, seeking my touch. _Mine._

I was so close to feeling him through the thin fabric of his shorts, but I held off for one moment more. "Duo," I breathed, leaning down and kissing him hungrily, grasping his hip through the loosened denims as he writhed. He whined. His grip was bruisingly tight as he urged me closer. I finished the kiss with a gentle caress of my tongue that made him shiver and made my entire body throb.

"Look at me," I demanded.

He opened his eyes and stared into mine. I slid my hand inside his denims and—

_"Ahh! Trowa…!"_

—he was so hard against my palm. His entire body arched up into mine, his jaw clenched. My fingers delved deeper, finding a wet patch in the fabric of his shorts near the head. I groaned, suddenly aware of how damp my own pants were becoming.

"Duo…" I pleaded, sitting up stiffly and tugging one of his hands from behind my neck and down to the front of my cargo pants.

He rocked his hips up against my hand as he just about tore the button from the hole and worked the zipper down. He had to readjust the angle of his arm as his fingers disappeared inside the fabric and then—

"Nuuh!" How many times had I imagined this? Tormented myself with it? I removed my hand from him long enough to claw and tug his denims and pants midway down his thighs, peripherally aware of him doing the same to me. And then he was bare and sweaty, leaking and flushed in my grasp. My knee slid back between his and I whimpered as his fingers closed around my naked flesh. I rocked down against him as he rolled up against me. I panted, begged wordlessly for him to never let me go. My free hand was buried in his hair and his was sliding up my back on top of my shirt.

My _shirt._ Bugger all, we were still wearing our shirts, our underwear and pants, our bloody socks. This was not how I'd wanted-dreamed-prayed our first time would go, but it was too late now.

"Coming…" I rasped into his ear, nipping the lobe. "Coming, Duo."

He groaned, the tone somehow appreciative and encouraging. And then his breath hitched and he was swelling in my grasp. I was ahead of him in the race for release, pumping against his grasping fingers, and the heat that had been gradually coalescing at the base of my spine surged outward with sudden brilliance.

I closed my eyes against it as it rode me, wrung me out, tossed me aside. I panted against Duo's shoulder, struggling to breathe, to not be a useless collection of skin and muscle and bone.

"Trowa…?" Duo coaxed me, thrusting into my loosened grasp, reminding me of how close he was. I tightened my fingers around him, forced open my heavy eyelids so I could watch him as he thrust up again and again, his spine bowing, drawing tighter with each motion, his fingers digging into my shoulders through the fabric of my shirt, lifting himself off the mattress.

"Oh, fuck!" he hissed, and then he came. I gave him a moment to recover before I tunneled an arm beneath him and rolled him toward me, hooking a heel behind his bent knee. Our hands were sticky and our clothes splattered and smeared and even soaked in places, but I didn't care. How could I care about anything when Duo purred and nuzzled his face into my neck, when he sighed contentedly against my skin?

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but this was not the time or the place. What we had just done didn't warrant that kind of sentiment. What we'd done hadn't been done out of love, but out of fear, stress, and three years of uncertainty and ever-present aching. I was never going to regret a single moment in Duo's presence, a single second of time that he gave me, but I regretted that we'd come together like this. I'd wanted more for him, for us.

_Later,_ I consoled myself, snuggling against him, ignoring the wetness cooling on my skin. Later, when Duo's father was safe, I'd tell him. Later, when it would mean what it was supposed to mean, I'd offer my confession.

"Hey, Tro?" Duo murmured, rubbing his cheek against my shoulder, snagging the mass-produced, knit weave on his beard stubble.

"Hm?"

"Are you still gonna respect me in the morning if I drool on you?"

I laughed. What was it about him that made smiles and laughter come so naturally to me? "You're wondering about that _now?"_ I asked, making a show of wiping my gooey hand – the one that had seen all the action – across the front of my soiled shirt. I swear I heard him giggle.

"Just checking."

But while we were on the subject, I reached over to the nightstand between the beds and put the complementary tissues to good use. All my shifting around eventually roused Duo and while he was changing clothes, I did likewise, daring to peek at his broad, bare back and long, toned legs. So much pale and perfect skin. I made myself turn away before he could catch me looking.

It went against habits that had been ingrained in me since childhood, but I left my clothes on the soggy bed to be dealt with later.

Duo dressed in a clean T-shirt (it had an illustration of some kind of furry, green monster peeking out of a steel rubbish bin on it and the catch phrase read "I grouch you!") and a pair of too-big, knee-length plaid shorts. When he crawled onto the other bed, I followed. I would follow him anywhere. The thought wasn't nearly as shocking as it probably should have been. It was still completely befok, of course. There was no avoiding that, so I just accepted it.

"Trowa?" he whispered after he'd settled down, one leg thrown over mine and his hand on my belly.

"Duo?" I returned, closing my eyes. I was tired. If he wasn't tired, he was some kind of a mutant alien from space in the sexiest body I'd ever seen.

He hesitated for a long moment and I almost dropped off right then. "Thanks," he finally said.

I frowned. I had no intention of accepting his thanks for being his friend, for always answering his calls and reading his goofy text messages, for identifying the men who'd been following him, for warning him, for getting on not one but three planes for him, for being here when he'd needed me, for falling in love with him, for—

"For being my first." His voice was so soft I almost didn't hear him at all.

My eyes snapped open. I felt my lips stretch into a ridiculously wide grin which I aimed up at the ceiling. My hand sought his, interlacing our fingers. "That's my line," I objected in an uneven tone.

He tensed briefly and then relaxed completely against me. "Hm," he replied, pressing his lips to my cloth-covered shoulder, marking out his soon-to-be drool territory, maybe. "I guess we'll have to share."

"Ja." I liked the sound of that. I closed my eyes again and slept.

And I woke to the curiously intense sensation of starving to death. "Eish!" I complained as my empty stomach cramped so hard I thought it was going to fold in on itself. It then rumbled so loudly I was sure that the like hadn't been heard since Krakatoa.

Duo shifted next to me. "I hear ya, man."

I looked over at him, noticing his bright, humor-filled eyes and his casual pose, lying on his side with his head propped up in one hand. My lips twitched in appreciation for the joke.

"Jet lag's a bitch." He rolled away for a moment and groped for something on the nightstand. I glimpsed a pair of empty food wrappers on the tabletop along with whatever he was reaching for. A moment later, two energy bars in shiny, retail wrappers bounced onto the bed next to me. He watched me as I ate, keeping his hands to himself.

"I won't bite," I told him as I finished off the first.

"Hah! Right. I don't make a habit of feeding _and_ petting the wildlife at the same time. Guys have been known to lose an arm that way."

I arched a brow at him as I reached for the second offering and made a concentrated effort to consume it at a slower pace. "Wildlife?"

He grinned. "Yeah. You and domestication… I just can't see that happening."

Maybe he was right. I wondered what that was going to mean for the future; someday he'd go back to his life and, when that happened, what would I do? Would I be happy following him into that tame, civilized world? Did I have a place in it? I didn't know, but when I looked into his eyes, my worries evaporated into vapor. I'd suss it out. Duo would be there and I knew I could count on him.

I smirked. "I guess you'll just have to find a way to keep me from chewing on the furniture."

He laughed and finally reached out to me, brushing some crumbs from my two-day's worth of beard. I turned toward his hand and nuzzled his palm. "I'm serious," I told him, meeting his gaze. "You've fed me. I'm following you home."

I held still while his fingers moved to my bangs and gently brushed them aside. His smile was gentle and a little sad. "It's about damn time."

"Been waiting long?"

We shared a look between us and I saw it happen, I saw the man Duo was meant to be step forward. I was witness to his determination; he would not be cowed by his youth and inexperience any longer. He wouldn't let me go back to the troupe easily. He was prepared to fight for me, to defy the expectations and norms of his world. I reached for him, cradled his jaw in my hand. I brushed my thumb over his lips, wordlessly urging him not to throw caution to the wind in reckless abandon even as I invited him to take his best shot.

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his mouth against the pad of my thumb. "So, we need a plan."

I let my hand drop and checked my wristwatch as I popped the last bit of sustenance in my mouth. It was bloody early, but the local street markets would be opening soon.

"The plan," I warned him, "will depend on how many people are still tailing you. You said you went to the park permit office on your first day?"

He nodded. "I was supposed to go pick up my pass yesterday around lunchtime. Obviously, I didn't."

"Right." That was one place we'd likely find someone on the lookout for him. I wasn't sure if capture and interrogation was an option. I didn't speak the local language and I doubted Duo was fluent enough to make it worth the risk, but perhaps we could follow the lookout back to wherever they were keeping his father. "First, we need provisions. Can you use a knife?"

"Uh, I'm guessin' you're not talking about peeling potatoes?"

My lips twitched. With a nod, I said, "Second point: show you how to use a knife to defend yourself."

"Ooh, fun," he responded. His grin was fake and his eyes shadowed.

I reached for his hand and gripped it tightly. I didn't want to put him in a situation where he might have to fight hand-to-hand, but he'd already refused the only other options. Still, I offered a second time, "We could still go to the local police and put the fear of God into them. Then I could take you to the airport."

"And you'd do what? Go after my dad on your own?" His anticipation of my next offer startled me. He shook his head vehemently. "No. No way, Tro. That's not why I called you. You're not a merc to me."

I bit my lip as something swelled to the point of near-explosion deep in my chest. There weren't many people in the whole world who saw me as something other than a fighter, a knife hand in the dark and a gunman on the roof.

I hadn't brushed my teeth yet this morning and I doubted he had, either, but I didn't care. I closed the distance between us in a sudden lunge and pulled him against me, our mouths crashing together hotly. In the next instant, his arms were around my shoulders and one leg was hooked over my waist. Oh God, he was flexible.

We kissed like it was the sum total of the universe. I didn't want to stop – I didn't _ever _want to stop – but I was getting hard and we didn't have time for this. We were both fed, rested, and there was a life at stake. It was time to move out.

I started to pull away and he mirrored me, sighing. "OK. Knives. Combat lessons. Count the stalkers. Does that about cover it?"

"Ja," I said.

"And after that we head for the temple."

"What?"

Duo frowned. "Well, if those guys are after the key thing that either is or isn't hidden inside, then that's where we'll find my dad, right?"

I nodded. I didn't mention the fact that they might not take Lord Maxwell with them at all; they might have cell or satellite phones; they might simply call their accomplices here in the city to report their success and order the disposal of the prisoner. If that happened, Duo and I were going to be too far away to cobble together a last-minute rescue. What's more, we'd be outnumbered, isolated, and without leverage. In short: powerless to negotiate. And I was saying nothing of the additional possibility that Lord Maxwell's abduction had nothing to do with this mythical weapon at all, but I had no intention of letting Duo see my doubts.

So, when he summed up with "OK. That's the plan," I just nodded a second time.

He continued, "You're gonna need a park permit, expedited with a little green grease—" He pulled a roll of Lao paper money out of his pocket. "—and we're gonna need a vehicle. Maybe a guide. A map."

"Right. Let's get started," I said, rolling off the bed and offering my hand to him. He took it. I pulled him to his feet. "Give me an hour," I said as I switched my drawstring sleep trousers for my last pair of clean cargo pants.

"What? You're going out alone?"

I met his startled, offended gaze. "No one's looking for _me."_

His jaw clenched in objection.

"Duo," I argued further, tucking in my shirt, "I've got to get weapons for us and show you how to use them. After that, I _promise,_ where I go, you'll go."

He blew out a breath. It was the closest thing to an agreement I knew I was going to get. He reached for my cell phone and unplugged it from the charger. "Here." He handed it to me. Our fingers brushed when I took it. He swallowed thickly. "If someone comes and I've gotta move, I'll call you as soon as I can."

I nodded tightly. Glancing toward the window, I said, "Take the fire escape up to the floor above, kick in a window and try to lay low somewhere inside the hotel. They'll be more likely to think you're heading for the roof or ground floor exits. It'll give you time to hide and make them start wondering if you've already slipped past them."

"OK. Got it."

I turned toward the door and paused, glancing at his backpack. It was good quality, distinctive. "I'll buy you a rucksack. This thing stands out like your braid."

At my mention of it, he reached for the end of his messily bound hair, blinking at the tie I'd used on it, clearly noticing it for the first time. Before he could work out that I was the culprit, I put a hand on his arm to draw his attention. "Just tuck it down the back of your shirt."

He nodded and then, with a quick motion, his hand was gripping mine, lifting my fingers to his lips. "Watch your back."

"Always." I shifted his grip and squeezed his fingers tightly. "Call me if you need me. Lock the door after me."

Just when I would have slipped into the hall, he grabbed my left arm and turned my wrist over so he could see the time. Squinting at the digital screen on my sports watch, he mused with exaggerated sobriety, "One hour, Major Trowa. Operation commencing in five… four… three…"

God he was such a goof. The moment of levity pushed aside enough tension for me to jokingly offer, "Any requests while I'm out?"

"Don't talk to strangers?" he dared cheekily. "Do not pass Go – do not collect two hundred dollars?"

I backed him up against the wall and kissed him. Deeply. I kissed him like he was an item on the menu. Which reminded me…

"When I get back, I'm going to enjoy mocking first class service to you."

_"With_ me," he corrected, grinning. "You're not the only one who thinks it's a total spank show."

Chuckling, I opened the door, checked the corridor, and stepped into the hall. He locked the door behind me. I headed down to the stairwell and out onto the street. It was still early but, with any luck, the local market would not only be open but full-to-bursting with customers at this hour.

It was. I selected an unremarkable, canvas rucksack for Duo, and then I bargained for two hunting knives and two utility knives, complete with sheaths. I bought two leather belts and a collection of fruit, some fried pastries, half a dozen soft, bamboo tubes of sticky rice, and strips of cured meat of some sort. Everything got tucked into Duo's new bag. Good enough; my hour was almost up.

Unfortunately, no one had told the brown-haired, blue-eyed college student wandering through the market in my wake that I was on a schedule. I'd seen him at the food court yesterday, but hadn't wanted to make an issue of it. He'd kept his distance and he hadn't followed us out to the line of taxicabs. How he'd managed to find us here I could only guess; he must have gotten the car number and tracked down the driver to ask where he'd dropped us off. Then he'd waited for one of us to step outside.

I wished for a gun in my hand, but that wasn't going to happen here, in a roadside neighborhood market. I refrained from checking my watch. I paused as if to contemplate an array of loose-leaf teas in woven baskets. The vendor was haggling with a very vocal customer, so I went unnoticed. Of course, it helped that I was very good at being unnoticeable.

I took the chance to slip one of the utility knives from its sheath and tuck it up into the knit cuff of my turtleneck sleeve. And then I waited. When the college kid was inevitably drawn past me by the crush of the thickening crowd, I fell into step with him and, behind the cover of the rucksack, I pressed the point of the knife into his lower back.

"Your wallet. Now," I said conversationally.

"Back pocket. Right side," he answered calmly. Too calmly.

I steered him over to a fruit stand. "When you buy something here, incidentally show me your passport photo page."

Due to the crowd, no one paid two market-goers standing so closely together any mind. The oke did as he was told, pulling his wallet out of his back, _left _pocket and flashing his ID in my line of sight as he bought a papaya.

"Heero Yuy," I drawled as I guided him back into the crowd. "Go back to Japan. I will not warn you a second time."

I had my eye on a break in the stalls through which I'd be able to slip away. Just a few more steps…

"You and Maxwell will need help if you're planning to go up against Khushrenada."

"Are you offering?" I asked conversationally.

By way of answer, he casually slung the plastic shopping bag with the papaya he'd bought over his shoulder. "Details are inside. Enjoy the local fruit."

When he released the plastic bag, I caught it and then took my exit. Yuy let the crowd continue to push him along through the market. I paused long enough to deftly pluck the torn sheet of notebook paper from inside the bag and drop the papaya on a pile of cheaply made, colorful shirts piled against the back wall of a clothing vendor.

I took a circuitous route back to the hotel, entering via the service entrance and taking the stairs up to our room. I knocked and spoke through the door, slipping inside and turning the bolt behind me when Duo opened it.

"You're almost late," he grouched, and the look on his face matched that of the grumpy, green monster on his T-shirt. I had to turn away to hide my smile.

"Here," I said, handing him a belt and a pair of knives. I showed him how to cut two parallel slits in the flat side of the hunting knife sheath for belt loops. We both suited up in silence and he copied me, positioning the hunting knife along the belt at the back of his waist with the handle within reach of his dominant hand.

The utility knife sheath was too narrow for the same treatment, so I had him hold up his shirt while I positioned the sheathed knife along the strip of leather and, using some Bostik, glued it in place just to the left of the belt buckle. I dared to brush my fingers over his bare side and I let my bangs drag across his pale belly before I stood and nudged him toward the bag of pastries, bananas, apples, and Asian pears.

I pretended I didn't see the hot look he gave me in reply. The meat and rice-filled bamboo sticks I divided into two rations and tucked them away in our rucksacks for later.

"You see anyone familiar?" Duo asked as he polished an apple on his shirt sleeve.

Before I answered that, I selected a fried ball of what was probably some kind of donut and grinned as the memory of Duo's "dirt donuts" from Egypt tickled the edge of my thoughts. I took a hap as I pulled Yuy's note out of my pocket and offered it to Duo for his inspection. "Met your fan from Japan," I told him, shaking open the bit of paper.

"No shit?" He frowned at the date, time, and location listed in stilted, too-perfect, classroom-taught-and-drilled handwriting. "Does he have a name?"

"Heero Yuy."

"You trust him?"

"I chucked his papaya."

Duo laughed. "OK, I guess that answers that. So what does he want?"

"Khushrenada's head on a pike?"

"A _what's_ head?"

I offered the second half of my donut to Duo, pulled out my cell phone, and did a Google search. He leaned against the drawers next to me, his shoulder bumping mine. Alternating between bites of apple and donut, he peered at my phone's display. I hit the option for image search results first. A variety of newspaper and publicity photos answered my query.

"Shit! _That guy?!"_

I looked up sharply. "You've seen him before?"

"Yeah. On the plane. He had the seat right behind mine." Duo tilted his head back and cursed at the ceiling. "I bet the sonuvabitch heard everything dad told me about mom's research, too."

"Did he seem interested in you?" The harsh tone of my voice made me wince. I did not like the thought of a polished, suave man like this looking at Duo. Duo was bloody attractive. Absolutely lekker. Hundreds of people looked at him every day. It was inevitable. I'd have to get this doff jealousy under control if I was going to be staying with him. It was not on. I hastily clarified, "Do you think he was watching you?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Creeped me out. I didn't want him to get a clear view of my mom's notes."

"But he saw them?"

"Oh, yeah. He saw 'em."

I turned back to the phone and started scrolling through the website results, skimming the mission statement on the man's corporate website before going back to the news articles that had come up. Duo read over my shoulder. I hoped he was making sense of all this. I couldn't get a handle on exactly what this Treize Khushrenada's business was, what he might want with an ancient artifact like the one Duo had told me about. Either Duo's mother had gotten it wrong and the portal was something else entirely or I wasn't looking at the big picture.

"Fuck," Duo spat, reaching out a hand for my phone and offering me the other half of his apple in exchange. "Gimme that."

I let him scroll through the search results himself as I grazed through my second breakfast. "What does he want?"

"According to this, world peace," Duo replied, scanning the text on the screen. "But don't believe everything you read. His company is ginormous and, if I'm reading between the right lines, then he's got political ambitions to go with his weapons R&D side business." His nimble fingertips tapped through a few more links. "And, yup. There it is: government contracts. Shit."

"I don't understand." I knew when to admit defeat.

"What's not to get? He's looking for more bang for his buck. The portal's supposed to be this epic weapon."

I shook my head. "But it's ancient. Modern weapons would surely out-stripe something that primitive cultures once feared."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Duo replied with surprising reserve. He was serious. "You know that the Nazis scoured the world searching for occult sources of power during the Second World War, right?"

"They didn't find anything."

"They didn't find anything they could _use _in time to help them win the war," Duo corrected.

"This is befok," I retorted.

"Be-fuck?" Duo grinned. His eyes sparkled. "Heh. I think I can guess that one."

I was sure he could. I rolled my eyes. "Insane," I translated.

"Hey, who was it that was saying something about how dangerous these guys could be if _they _believed in what they were looking for? I coulda sworn it was just the other night…"

I sighed heavily and with mock irritation. "Fine. Khushrenada is ambitious, rich, well-connected, _and _insane."

"Befok," he corrected, still grinning. He then rolled a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. The grin slid into a droll look. "I never said he wasn't."

"Where does Heero Yuy fit into all this?"

Duo leaned back, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and told me in an enigmatic tone, "A moment, please, and I shall consult the Great Google Spirit."

I snorted.

He searched. "Uh, let's see. Graduate student at Tsukuba University. Wrote and presented a paper at some physics conference last year on – and I quote – 'Antimatter and the application of Schroedinger's paradox'."

He looked at me. I shrugged.

"It's not Beowulf or Shakespeare."

"No shit," he agreed and turned back to the phone. "The only other thing here is a Mixi page. Looks like Japan's take on Facebook."

"Facebook?"

Duo grinned. "Not very adventurous in Internetland, are ya, Tro?"

"No. I ration the battery for _important _things," I replied, not all that offended, but willing to vent a little tension by playing along.

"Like what?" he asked, aiming that bloody sly grin of his at me.

I didn't answer verbally. I leaned in like I was going to kiss him but, at the last possible moment, I turned my head away to taste the skin over the joint of his jaw then nibble at his ear, burrowing my nose into his hair. His arms dropped as he just about melted against me.

"Oh… OK," he mumbled weakly. "I think I can guess."

"Hm," I agreed and made myself stop pushing him up against the chest of drawers and its dusty television. "So. Yuy," I reminded both of us.

"Yeah. I still have no idea what he's doing here following me around, packing heat."

I nodded to the phone dangling from his grasp. "Any connections between him and Khushrenada?"

Duo shifted his hips absently against the furniture as he looked it up. I commiserated; I was more or less certain that I was going to be half-hard whenever I was in his presence. Ambivalent comfort was a distant memory.

"Uh… nuthin'. Maybe if I knew Japanese…"

"But maybe not."

Duo blew out a breath. "So, what do you think? Is he a mercenary undercover as a college student on vacation?"

I shrugged.

Duo nodded to the scrap of paper Yuy had passed me at the market. "Do you wanna go?"

I glanced at my watch. If we agreed to the meeting, we only had about two hours to make up our minds. "Put that away," I said, gesturing to the phone.

He gave me a look that prompted me to explain the directive. I did. "I still have to show you how to use a knife without cutting off your own fingers, and _then,"_ I said with a stern look, "we'll scout the place and decide whether to risk making contact or not."

"Roger that, Major Trowa," he retorted irreverently.

My glare was brief and half-hearted. He grinned. We got to work.

* * *

NOTES:

"Maat" means "friend" or "partner" (possibly "life partner") whereas "kêrel" is slang for a boyfriend, guy, or young man. Trowa will likely use the former until his relationship with Duo officially progresses into the realm of the latter.

Also, it's interesting to note that Martins (who is an American) says "Look after your man" which is pretty vague. "Man" could be merc-speak for "client" or it could mean "boyfriend". In such a close group, all the guys have got to know that Trowa is head-over-heels for Duo, but it's kind of a "don't ask; don't tell" thing.

Trowa's flight itinerary is based on what I could find online. Also, I'm assuming that Trowa's passport wouldn't raise any flags (or alerts) when he passed through Ethiopia, Thailand, or Laos. I have no proof that these countries have more relaxed passport restrictions. Nor do I have any proof that he couldn't enter the U.S. or the U.K./Europe. I just liked the obstacle it presented plot-wise.

Heero's university – Tsukuba University (pronounced "scuba") – is real and located near Japan's largest particle collider where experimental research is done in the field of elementary particle physics (e.g. atoms and their quark components). The title of Heero's paper – "Antimatter and the application of Schroedinger's paradox" – is complete bupkiss, although Schroedinger's research is very important in quantum physics. (Check out "Schrödinger's Cat" and you'll see what I mean.)

Mixi is a social networking site based in Japan and modeled after Facebook.

And now we know who the guy on the plane was that Duo noticed and mentally dressed in Alliance-type duds. Whatkind, bad guy!

* * *

South African English terms and slang:

Bankie = a stool (as in a bar stool)

Befok = crazy (not necessarily in a good way), exciting/exhilarating

Bosbefok = whacko, crazy (as in PSTD crazy)

Bostik = a brand of super glue

Bredie = stew (as in a tomato and mutton stew)

Donner = to beat or beat up

Eish = an exclamation of shock, surprise, exasperation, pain, frustration, etc. (similar to how Americans use "Damn!" at the beginning of statements for emphasis)

Graze = to eat (verb), food (noun)

Hap = a bite (as in, "take a hap of my sandwich if you want")

Lekker = very pleasing, cool, nice, good

Not on = not acceptable (like, "no way, pal" or "never in a million years" = "that is not on")

Pavement = sidewalk

Skrik = a fright

Swaai = to dance

Whatkind = Wassup (a casual greeting similar to "How's it going?")

There are several moments when I could have used other South African words (like "voetsek" for "go away/fuck off") but I decided they'd be too distracting given the pace and tone of this installment, so they got left out. Bummer.


	4. Ruins, Part 3

**Warnings:** alternate universe fic, language, shounen ai, **YAOI** (male/male sex), reference to yuri (female/female sexual relationship), angst, eventual character death & reference to torture

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot._ Without permission.

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Recommended theme music for "Ruins" - the album "What if" by Earlyrise (Check them out on CDbaby's online independent music store or iTunes.) Their lyrics have a straightforward, "young" quality to them that I think matches Duo and Trowa's ages. Plus, I really like their music style and composition.

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If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate posts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Ruins - Part 3: Friends & Failure"

* * *

**Ruins – Part 3** (Duo POV)

"Shit!" I swore, glaring at the dark ribbon of blood dripping off my thumb. "Not again…!"

"Here," Trowa said, inviting me closer with a flick of his fingers and pulling me into the bathroom for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. He rinsed the cut with bottled water, patted it dry with a fresh Kleenex, and began the process of sealing it shut with superglue from his pack. From slice to seal, the whole thing took, like, ten seconds.

Studying the other two sealed-up cuts on my right hand, I sighed. "I suck at knife fighting." I said this as I watched the blood – oddly orange when viewed through drying superglue – puff up in a thin line along the edges of the wound. Trowa applied another dollop and kept pinching my skin together.

"It's an acquired skill," he replied. "But a rifle would be too conspicuous."

That got my attention. "You actually think you can get one of those here? Just off the street?"

"Undoubtedly," he said, his attention still focused on my thumb as he gradually loosened his hold. "There isn't much a roll of American dollars can't buy in this part of the world."

"Except a miracle," I muttered.

Trowa pretended not to have heard me. "Let's give it one more go," he said instead.

"Hey, you're not gonna take my shiny toys away if I slice-'n'-dice myself again, are you?"

I got a half-smile for that. "We'll see."

It turned out that three was my lucky number, though. Trowa drilled me on different ways to pull the hunting knife from the back of my belt and the utility knife from my left side in such a way that I maximized its effectiveness in the first strike. I had to swallow back a bubble of bile once or twice when he told me where I'd be stabbing my attacker, but I had to admit that the eyes, throat, and balls were pretty sensitive areas and would probably deter a second attack if my first strike was on target.

"Do not hesitate," he told me when he called a halt to my shadow fighting. He stepped so close I could feel the heat of him all down the front of me. The reality made a mockery of my memory. He framed my face in his scarred, rough hands and whispered, "For your sake – for _my_ sake – never hesitate."

I nodded readily, automatically. Maybe it should have bothered me that I'd confessed to a helluvalot with that single motion. Maybe it should have bothered me that Trowa would see it, know it, trust it. I swallowed thickly as I watched a warmth enter his visible green eye, softening his fierce gaze into something eloquent.

He kissed me slowly, chastely. It was all I could do to keep from glomping him again.

"Where's your jacket?" he murmured.

"Closet," I answered, knowing the moment was over and real life was waiting.

He gave me a tiny grin. "Cupboard," he corrected, turning away.

"Is not," I replied.

"Is so," he insisted, pulling my windbreaker off its hanger and handing it to me.

I rolled my eyes. "Not." I shrugged into my jacket as Trowa did likewise.

"Cupboard," he insisted lightly. I let it go. For now.

We hefted our packs and left the hotel. He'd reserved the room for two additional nights, but I had the feeling we wouldn't be coming back. I felt _really _bad about the crispy comforter we were leaving behind and kinda grossed out when I thought about how last night's clothes were folded up and packed alongside the few clean items (and the food) I still had in my new pack, but Trowa didn't seem to have a problem with it. I could only imagine the kind of stuff he was used to. Ugh.

The meeting location we'd been invited to was a place called Buddha Park and, as I'd already highlighted it for a visit while we were in the area, I was able to tell Trowa that it was about twenty-four kilometers outside of town. We rented a scooter with my driver's license. Trowa drove. Having an excuse to keep my arms around him for an extended period of time made the trip extremely memorable. Unfortunately, every pothole we hit bounced me against his back and the constant mashing of my pelvis against his rear made it memorable as well. In a not-so-nice way.

"Dude. Pilot _around _the meteor craters," I pleaded after the first ten minutes.

"Believe me, I am."

And that was pretty much all that needed to be said about the state of Vientiane's roads.

I kept my head down and my braid tucked inside my shirt where it was sandwiched between my new, inconspicuous backpack and my sweaty, itchy back. I gritted my teeth and wished for a La-Z-boy and central air. Not that I didn't want my dad back safe and sound. I did. In the worst way. But, damn it, modern conveniences made the list, too, y'know?

The park was every bit the tourist attraction it was touted to be. The only thing that outnumbered the moss-covered, stone statues of Buddha, various devils, and congregation of bohdisattvas (of all sizes and poses) was the sheer number of shutter-button-clicking sight-seers. Trowa cut the throttle down to almost nothing as he puttered through the dusty parking area, both of us scanning for familiar faces and indications of unfriendly ambushes.

"Four o'clock," Trowa told me. "Next to the reclining Buddha."

I glanced over there and—

"Ah. The fan from Japan." He seemed to be alone, standing there fiddling with his digital camera, spine stiff as people meandered around him lost in their own little winter holiday wonderland of exotic, sub-tropic off-the-beaten-path adventure.

It was easy to envy them their happy ignorance. It was even easier to hate them for it.

We parked the scooter and I carefully pried myself off the seat. Ouch. I was really hoping that Tro and I wouldn't have to go back the same way we'd come, but I didn't dare vocalize the wish. In this case, getting what I asked for could be… bad.

I refused to imagine all the could-be-worse scenarios as Trowa led the way in a roundabout route toward Heero Yuy, our newest friend-or-enemy.

He had to know we were approaching because he was still glaring at the statue in front of him like the power of his stare was keeping it from jumping up and doing a jig. Trowa stopped half a step behind Yuy and I stood next to the guy, trying not to put my hands in my jacket pockets. The jacket covered the knives nicely. They were just a flick of my wrist away, but it'd be moot if I got my hands tangled up in fabric at a critical moment.

I took a deep breath. "So, let's cut the bullshit," I proposed with stereotypical American bluntness. I was inviting Yuy and any potential cohorts to underestimate me.

Trowa played along; I could feel his glare of displeasure aimed at me.

Yuy didn't even look at us. "You want your father. I want to prevent Khushrenada from finding the artifact."

Well. That was about as lacking-in-bullshit as you could get. "So whaddya need us for?"

Yuy stiffened further, his gaze darting in my direction and then over his own shoulder at Trowa.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "He's part of the package. Take it or leave it, pal."

"The location," Yuy answered flatly. "I need the location of the artifact."

"Why don't you just follow Khushrenada?"

"I need to arrive before he does."

I shook my head. "It's a little late for that. They've got, what, a twelve-hour head start?" Assuming they'd left sometime yesterday afternoon and stopped for the night before continuing on at dawn this morning.

"Eight hours, forty minutes," he replied. "They're heading to Pakse in the south. By car."

"How d'you know that?"

"GPS tracking chips on the cars." Before I could play devil's advocate, he added, "Installed them myself."

"OK, so if they've already got that big of a lead…?"

"I have a helicopter."

OK, yeah. That would cut down the lead time. Especially if the rural roads were as delightful as Vientiane's.

Yuy continued, outlining each point of his mission like he was manning a hole-punch machine on an assembly line, "We'll avoid the jungle trails, get to the location first, and recover the artifact."

"And my father. He gets _recovered,_ too. If I agree to this," I added.

"In that case, we'll also have to set up a distraction before pulling out."

I pointed out, "A distraction isn't going to help your anonymity."

"Depends on the distraction."

I still kinda felt like he was blowing me off. I had to ask: "Why not just put a gun to my head and make me tell you what you wanna know?" We both knew he had one.

His mouth quirked into a joke of a smile. "That's not my way."

"Uh huh." Suspicious and disbelieving? Me? Yeah. Totally. I decided to be obnoxiously American again: "You wanna be my friend because, if the artifact thing isn't there, you're gonna need my help finding it before Khushrenada does."

He didn't deny it. "Your mother, Lady Maxwell, came to us when she began to understand the nature of the gateway. We promised to help her destroy it."

"Who's this 'we'? You got a turd in your pocket or somethin'?"

Yuy glared at me.

I stared back until it was clear that he wasn't gonna answer my question. I asked another. "Is the gateway really that dangerous?"

"If it is real, yes."

"But maybe it isn't. Real, I mean."

"Given what could be on the other side, we cannot afford to assume it isn't or that it will never be opened."

Well, damn.

Yuy checked his wristwatch. "We're lifting off in fifteen minutes. Any other questions?"

"Terms," I corrected in the coldest tone I possessed. "My father comes back with us—" I gestured to Trowa and myself. "—in the helicopter. If I tell you where we're going, then you have to help us rescue him and you have to get us back to Vientiane."

He didn't even hesitate. _"Ryokai desu,"_ he said with a nod. "Agreed."

I blinked. It couldn't be that easy.

"Follow me," he ordered, turning away.

"No," Trowa interrupted. "Show us on the map." He gestured to me and I fumbled in my pockets for the best map I had of the immediate vicinity. "We'll meet you there."

Yuy glared.

Trowa glared back.

I snorted. "Um, yeah, you were _way _more impressive on your motorbike, man," I drawled at Yuy, holding out the map.

He jabbed a finger at a forested area about a half a kilometer up the road. "Fifteen minutes," Yuy reminded us.

Trowa gave him a humorless grin. It showed a lot of teeth. I liked it, but I hoped like hell he'd never have a reason to use it on _me._ "You're not going anywhere until we're aboard. Unless you'd prefer to tip Khushrenada off by flying that helo right up his arse."

Yuy didn't bother to reply. He turned on his heel and stalked away on the marked tourist trail.

Trowa and I headed off in the other direction. I took my time folding up the map as I grinned like a freakin' maniac.

"What?" Trowa demanded a little impatiently.

"You said 'arse'," I told him.

"Oh, bloody—! How old _are_ you, Duo?" This was the first time I'd ever seen Tro look incredulous.

I answered, "Old enough to know you said a cuss word. A British-y one. And you made it sound pretty cool."

He snorted out a laugh.

I blamed the situation for the sudden emergence of my juvenile sense of humor. Jesus, but we were possibly a helicopter ride away from finding my dad. Getting him back, though… That wasn't gonna be all that simple, was it?

"We need a plan," I observed. "If this Yuy guy is on the level and we actually find my dad… yeah, we'll need a plan."

Trowa led the way, walking with the unhurried pace of the average tourist, back to our rental scooter. "We will have one," he vowed.

I tried not to look surprised when Trowa strolled right past our set of wheels and toward the frighteningly overgrown public bathrooms. Thank God he didn't actually go inside because, blind devotion or no, I was so not going in there. The front door looked like it was gonna eat me alive.

"We're not taking the scooter?" I checked once we were both out of sight of the people in the parking lot.

"They'd hear us coming."

"Yeah, but… they know we're on our way anyway, right?"

Trowa paused in his survey of the jungle. Maybe he was scoping out a trail or something. "Duo, there are varying degrees of flaming red bull's eyes. I'm trying to minimize ours."

"Oh. OK. I feel dumb."

His lips twitched. "Like an oke who can't read the hieroglyphs on the wall right in front of his nose?"

That killed every trace of humor in a single strike. I was instantly horrified. Showing off for Trowa and then teaching him a few Egyptian characters were some of my all-time favorite memories. Right up there with the shooting and hand-to-hand combat lesson… oh, and the long kiss goodnight. Of course. "I—I didn't mean to—" I swallowed. "Shit, I am _so _sorry, Tro."

"Stop," he said, stepping closer and pressing his finger to my lips. "I just meant that we all start somewhere."

"Feeling like an idiot?" I mumbled against his rough skin.

He shook his head. "You're not an idiot and you didn't make me feel like one, either."

Oh. I smiled with relief. Trowa gave me that little, self-satisfied grin of his and then pulled his hand away in order to crook a finger at me. Christ, was he sexy. Wherever he went, I would follow. That's how I ended up shadowing him through a mucky, humid jungle on a not-so-short shortcut to the supposed rendezvous point. I was sweaty and panting before long. The close, thick air was killing me and Trowa had to reach a hand back for me to take in order to haul me up an incline that my sneakers hadn't been designed for conquering. Trowa's boots handled it just fine, of course.

Footwear envy aside, I was relieved to see the helicopter through the tangle of vines and thick tree trunks. We were above the small clearing enough that Yuy was visible. He'd lost the jean jacket at some point and I got a look at the leather sidearm harness he had on over his green T-shirt. There were two pistols tucked up against his ribcage. He wasn't even trying to conceal them now.

Movement from the open loading door drew my gaze. I didn't know who I'd expected Yuy's partner to be, but some old dude with long, grey hair and a pair of weird goggle-type glasses wasn't it.

"If we wait any longer, we'll lose our advantage," he said.

Yuy didn't budge. "We'll lose it anyway without the exact location."

"The Maxwell boy doesn't trust you. He's not coming."

That appeared to piss Yuy off. "He'll be here."

The old man sighed. "Five more minutes," he agreed grudgingly.

Trowa tapped my arm and motioned for me to crouch down with him. "There's likely at least one more, a pilot."

"The old guy's not the pilot?"

He shook his head. "Prosthetic hand."

"Well, Hawkeye, what about Yuy?"

"He's ground assault."

I considered our options even as I made a mental note to introduce Tro to the wonderful world of Marvel-verse as soon as we got done being awesome and saving the day. It was just _wrong_ that he hadn't gotten the Hawkeye reference. Dragging myself back to the issue at hand, I asked, "Can we take 'em if it comes down to a fight?"

Trowa nodded. "But I can't fly a helicopter."

"Me neither." Why didn't school prepare you for real life situations like this? Damn it, I knew I should've gotten into military RPGs back when they'd been cool. Now everything was zombie apocalypse. I mean, _seriously._ Zombies. Seriously? "Without the chopper, we'd have to get our hands on a Jeep or something." _If_ we had a falling out with Yuy's group and had to make our way back to civilization on our own, it was gonna be a _loooong_ hike.

"It's a risk," Trowa agreed.

If I'd been alone, I would have taken it and hoped for the best, but I had Trowa to think about. "D'you think it's worth it?"

"Yuy has given you more of a choice than the others who were after you," he pointed out.

"That we know about," I amended.

"True."

"Thus far," I added for the sake of showing off my smarts twice in a row.

"Thus far," he agreed.

There were too many unknown variables to be certain of everything… or anything, really. I let out a breath. Fuck. If I trusted Yuy and Trowa got hurt… but if I _didn't _trust Yuy and I never saw my dad again… "Fuck," I hissed. "I don't know what to do." There went my smart points.

Trowa's hand gripped my shoulder and I turned toward him. His palm traveled down to the center of my chest where he pressed it to the fabric and flesh over my heart. "If you don't take this chance, will you regret it?"

"Yes."

He smiled in understanding. "Then let's go."

Yuy didn't look all that surprised to see us when we clambered (well, OK, _I_ clambered; Trowa just sort of strolled, damn him) from the jungle and into the clearing. He did, however, look relieved. He motioned us toward the chopper and I saw that Trowa'd been right about there being a third member of Yuy's team. The pilot was a tall, beefy, bald man of indeterminate ethnicity who was called, simply, "O". His copilot with the prosthetic hand was "J". It made me wonder where the rest of the damn alphabet army was.

"You have a name?" Yuy asked, directing the question at Trowa.

To my surprise, he answered, "No."

"Hm. _Nanashi,"_ Yuy continued with a nod, "if you or Maxwell need to suit up, help yourselves." I followed his gesture through the loading door to the far wall of the helicopter's hull.

"Holy shit," I choked out, letting Trowa help me up inside. Above us, the rotor blades were starting to turn. Yuy fetched a pair of flight helmets for us. Trowa was going over the offerings that had been secured to a convenient rack. He handed me a semi-automatic rifle that looked like a close cousin of the one he'd taught me how to use and two clips of ammunition before choosing one for himself plus a pair of pistols and a harness like Yuy's.

I was starting to feel underdressed.

"The location," Yuy reminded me now that Tro and I were armed.

I didn't have to dig into my backpack and consult my mom's notes; when Trowa had gone out earlier for food and whatever, I'd looked through them again. It'd helped pass the time. "Wat Dong Sao," I replied, and then I gave him the coordinates.

He relayed this to O as Trowa helped me with my helmet before putting on his own. I'd never ridden in a helicopter before and the liftoff was pretty anticlimactic compared to a jumbo jet's. At least it was smoother than driving, even if the _whoop-whoop-whoop_ of the rotor blades made my ears feel numb despite the helmet cushioning.

I tried not to fidget, but it's damn hard to keep yourself from bouncing off the walls when you're going nowhere fast for three freakin' hours. I busied myself by glaring at the backs of the pilots' seats at the front of the craft. When I gripped the edge of my seat on either side of my knees, Trowa's hand moved inconspicuously to rest on top of mine. The move didn't startle me, but I glanced his way reflexively. Trowa was still leaning back against the skin of the hull with his eyes nearly closed. Heero Yuy seemed to be almost-sleeping as well, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands probably curled around the grips of each pistol, ready for action. I resolutely ignored him and turned my hand so that Trowa's palm fit against mine and our fingers interlaced. He looked completely relaxed, but his grip was so strong I was pretty sure his knuckles where white.

His inner tension made me wonder if we should have made time for a rematch before we'd cleared outta the hotel room.

_Oh, shit._ I let out a deep breath as heat surged through my entire body at the thought of last night, of his rough hands moving so carefully over my skin, of his mouth opening to mine, the taste of him destroying my mind. He'd devoured me without even trying. Damn. I'd hoped it would be good between us, but I'd never hoped for all that.

So… were we officially boyfriends now? Or more like friends with benefits? Or was last night a one-time thing?

Once my dad was rescued and safe, I'd get up the nerve to ask. And then dad and I were gonna have The Trowa Talk. No way in hell was I waiting until graduation to be with him if he wanted me. It was impossible. My dad and the board of directors at the company and our freakin' battalion of lawyers could just _deal _with the fact that I was in love with another guy. Although the whole South African mercenary thing was probably gonna freak them out more. I glared at my mucky sneakers. Well, I'd crank open a can of genuine, no-artificial-ingredients-included Whoop Ass when I had to. 'Nuff said.

Trowa's thumb stirred, brushing over the back of my hand. I turned toward him and caught the shimmer of curiosity and speculation in his visible green eye.

I shook my head and grinned. "Later," I mouthed rather than use the mic attached to the helmet. He nodded once with satisfaction and then glared in Heero's direction. I glanced over in time to see the guy's eyelids slide shut.

So he'd caught us. Big deal. He wouldn't be the last, I was sure. I gripped Trowa's hand tighter.

"We're approaching the target," J's gravelly voice said through the helmet speakers. "We're going to drop you boys on an outcrop near a river. Get ready to deploy."

Yuy was already up and throwing open the loading door. I reached for my seat harness, but Trowa tugged on my hand until I looked at him again. "Follow me," he mouthed, his expression deadly serious and even a little pleading.

I nodded. "I'll watch your back," I mouthed slowly.

He gave me a sexy, crooked grin. I wondered if it tasted the same as his other ones or if it was of a spicier variety. Damn, I was gone for him. In orbit. Sayonara.

Oh well. Moving along…

When Trowa unfastened his harness, I did likewise and let him approach the door first. It was probably a good thing he did, too. If I'd seen that glorified _outcrop,_ I probably would've mutinied. But Trowa's broad shoulders blocked my view and then, suddenly, Yuy was handing me down to him before making the four-foot jump with enviable ease. I cringed back against Trowa as the chopper cut away from the ledge, blasting dusty, humid air at us.

Before I could get cranky about it, Yuy pulled out a handheld GPS unit and pointed toward a hint of what could be rock or stone in the steamy distance. "Three point seven kilometers that way."

Trowa squeezed my arm and took the middle position in our little caravan, following after Yuy when he strode off toward the edge of the lush, dripping-with-fog-condensation jungle. After the first five minutes, I was damn glad I was bringing up the rear. My sneakers were killing my ego with every slip and stumble. I always managed to grab ahold of something to keep myself from ramming into Trowa, but it was the whole not-cool-flailing-of-arms and comically-wide-eyes thing that I was very much hoping to keep to me, myself, and I.

And then, just when I was starting to wonder if Laos had poison arrow frogs or tree-dwelling venomous snakes – some critter that would make my day immeasurably worse when I squashed it by accident – we fought our way through an unusually thick wall of green ferns and found ourselves in an overgrown meadow, at the center of which sat a _massive,_ dilapidated, moss-and-vine covered stone temple. It had one central entrance that I could see and the whole structure was tiered. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the entire building was made of steps – high, narrow, slippery steps, but steps nonetheless – right up to the roof where three, iconic, upside-down-beehive-shaped stone towers stood, lording over their jungle domain.

"Whoa," I said, shading my eyes from the afternoon sun as I tried to get a better look at the structure.

Yuy didn't pause to admire the scenery. He marched right over to the front steps and the main entrance. I meandered after him. Trowa placed himself between me and the surrounding jungle as I continued to digest the monolith.

It was old, that was for damn sure, but there was something about it that seemed off. I'd never been as geeked about Asian ruins as Solo had – he'd been something of an expert even when he'd been just a kid in junior high school – but some of the stones seemed unnaturally worn and rounded. I paused to examine one. It was a corner stone. Even ancient people would have known better than to use a material that was susceptible to erosion for the foundation of a building, especially one of great importance as this one obviously had been.

But wait… it wasn't just a few corner stones that were on the verge of cracking. There were too-smooth, too-crumbled blocks along the entire outer wall, spaced almost evenly, right up to the main entrance where Yuy was reaching for the ancient handle that had been carved into the rock.

"NO!" I shouted, jerking to a stop. "Don't touch that!"

Yuy froze, his fingers millimeters away from the door. At my side, Trowa had drawn a pistol and was scanning the area for whatever had set me off. Wild monkeys or rampaging elephants or something.

I gestured for Yuy to back away from the door. "It's a trap. You open that and the entire thing's gonna collapse. See?" I pointed above his head to the equally unsound blocks over the door itself and then to the others along the wall. "It'll fall like dominoes."

Exhibiting unprecedented care, Yuy retreated from the front steps.

"We need to find another way inside," I concluded.

Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be one. We circled the entire temple, but the front entrance was the only one on the ground level. Heaving a sigh, I planted my hands on my hips and looked up… and up… and up. Five stories up. At least.

The towers glared down at me, as if double dog daring me to come up there and spit in their archways.

"Is it safe to climb?" Trowa asked.

"Probably not," I admitted. It looked like the last time anyone had been by to perform regular maintenance and upkeep had been sometime around the fall of the Roman Empire. (Well, OK, maybe not that long ago, but you get the point.) "But it'll be safer than trying the front door."

I scouted for a section of the step-wall that was in acceptable condition. "Here," I finally decided, choosing an area that wasn't as overgrown with slick moss and had the majority of its blocks intact. "We should go up single-file."

Unsurprisingly, Yuy lead the way. Trowa brushed my hand in passing and then he was moving up the wall, scaling each insanely tall and panic-inducingly narrow step with grace. I suppose we could have let Yuy do this all on his own but, from the top of the temple, we'd probably have a better view of the surrounding land. Then Trowa and I could figure out a rescue plan.

Going up was torture, but I figured falling ass over braid back down would be worse. I gritted my teeth and clawed my way up the steep incline, accepting Trowa's hand and a moment's respite at the top. And when I'd caught enough breath to actually give a damn, I congratulated myself; it _was_ one helluva view.

"How should we do this?" I asked Trowa.

He pointed toward what was clearly an overgrown road when seen from up here. "There's the trail." He scanned what was left of the meadow. "They'll probably park their vehicles here—" Another point. "—and if they leave your father in the car—"

"I'm going in after the artifact."

I blinked. Trowa stiffened. We looked in Yuy's direction. His hands were at his sides, empty, but I got the impression that he was prepared to reach for a weapon.

He added, "I need your help, Maxwell."

"Huh?"

He gestured unhappily to the stone structure beneath his feet. "I don't know anything about ancient ruins."

Well, this sure as hell wasn't my specialty. I opened my mouth to tell him so. Trowa put a hand on my shoulder. His expression was thoughtful. "Going inside may give us the best advantage."

"How so?" I demanded. I was all for kicking some ass, jumping in a Jeep with my dad in the back seat, and burning rubber the hell outta here. Except that I didn't know how far whatever was left in the gas tank would get us. And then there was the whole you-can't-burn-rubber-on-muddy-potholed-jungle-trails thing. Making our getaway in a helicopter while giving them the finger would be more poetic. And just plain more awesome.

Trowa explained, "We let the enemy forces divide themselves. If we know the layout, we can potentially trap a smaller group of them inside. If your father enters the temple with them, we can try to separate him from them and then make our escape. Or, if your father remains outside, we'll have fewer adversaries to deal with before we can get him back to the pickup point."

"Oh," I said. "That's… a pretty good plan."

Trowa smirked. "It has the best chance of working if we've reconnoitered the temple before they get here."

"Right. OK." I studied each of the towers carefully. The central one looked like it had withstood the elements better than the other two, so I headed there, watching my step carefully. The vines and moss covering the stone roof _looked _like they were the glue holding this place together, but looks were deceiving. The plants that had taken root in the crevices between the blocks were actually pushing the stones further apart, eroding them and – in the case of the moss – probably digesting them.

I thrust out a hand behind me when Trowa moved to follow in my footsteps. "Not too much weight in one place," I warned and, ignoring the wind which was bumping the rifle against my thigh and blowing strands of sweaty hair in my eyes, I traversed the roof. My palms were sweating by the time I got to the central tower.

"Duo?" Trowa called.

"Just a sec," I answered, looking over the tower, examining its structural stability. Then I leaned forward through one of its four archways and peered down into the gloom below. The light of the afternoon sun was at just the right angle to show me a second, steep-and-narrow set of stairs leading down into the chamber below. How thoughtful of the long-legged, tiny-footed people who had built the damn thing.

I turned around and grinned. Pointing, I informed my audience hovering tensely at the edge of the roof, "Stairs!"

Trowa started toward me before Yuy could claim the right to be next. I moved around to the other side of the tower and Trowa stood on my left while we waited for Yuy to cross the roof. Trowa put out an arm to keep me from diving down the steps. "You first," he told Yuy in a tone that only a moron would argue with. "It's your objective."

I knew I should probably go first. I was the one who'd been force fed archeology minutiae from the moment of my birth by an over-enthusiastic parent, after all, but Yuy didn't argue and I didn't dare suggest otherwise. Trowa and I still had to go inside and scope the place out, but I was guessing he'd had his fill of my suicidally daring King of the Crumbling Temple Show.

Yuy produced a flashlight and made his way down slowly. Trowa handed me one of his – I had no idea if he'd brought these with him all the way from Lagos or if he'd helped himself to them in the chopper – and then we followed.

"So much more fun on the way down," I complained, having to brace one hand in a very unmanly fashion on the steps above as I wedged my feet into the inconceivably stingy ledges, gimping my way down sideways. My Converse All-Stars were so not all-starring today.

As soon as I reached a flat surface that was wider than four-point-two inches, I scanned the inside of the temple. Creepy crawlies skittered away from the beam of the flashlight and I was glad for my long-sleeved jacket. Eugh.

Well, they were welcome to the walls. I stepped carefully along the debris-strewn floor, approaching what appeared to be the main gallery of the temple. Although the temple was something like five or six stories tall, there only appeared to be three main levels surrounding the center of the structure where a ginormous stone Buddha with eight arms sat smiling as centipedes trickled and cricked over its body. I shuddered in sympathy.

Trowa bumped me from behind, startling me. I almost squeaked. "Gogga gonna get you?" he teased.

"Gogga?"

He scritched two fingers up my arm, mimicking the movements of a cockroach-type insect. "Gogga gogga."

"Gah!" I objected, shoving at him and dusting the imaginary insect off my jacket sleeve. "You sick, sick, man. That's so not cool I don't even."

"You don't even… what?" he prompted.

"I don't even have the words for how not cool that was."

He grinned and squeezed my arm. "I'll go first, shall I? Give the beasties a skrik for you?"

I didn't know what a skrik was, but I gestured for him to go right ahead. "Skrik out, man."

We covered the top level, mapping out the collapsed walls and crumbling stairs. Away from the hollowed-out center of the temple, the floor was divided into two levels of smaller chambers, perhaps for the monks who had once lived, worked, and worshipped here. A place like this must've required a lot of attention… unless you liked _gogga-gogga._

I shuddered. Gimme a nice, hissing snake any day. Hell, even a beady-eyed rat or a plague-infested bat. I'd pass on the cockroaches, black widows, and scorpions, k'thanks.

"Lots of places to hide your father if we have to go that route," Trowa observed quietly, passing the beam of his flashlight over the various piles of debris and the maze of still-standing walls and columns.

"Yeah, but he's not gonna be crazy about the stairs," I replied, eying the glorified toe-grips.

Yuy braved the dark, gloomy rooms above. I couldn't quite bring myself to take on more steps and bugs when there was a maze right here for me to learn and creepy crawlies a-plenty. Trowa and I had moved through about half the level (at my estimate) when we heard Yuy call out.

"Maxwell! There's something up here."

"How many legs does it have?" I muttered, but I headed for the nearest stable-looking staircase nonetheless. I tried to ignore the sounds of exoskeletons and pointy insectoid feet skittering in the dark as I homed in on the glow from Yuy's flashlight.

He looked up at me as I drew closer, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Look," he instructed me, indicating the object of discovery with an arcing gesture of the light.

I blinked at what appeared to be a metal chest. "That's not ancient." I crouched down, getting a good look at the locks, which seemed to be made of steel, and a poor grade of it, too. They were rusty. I'd never seen anything quite like them. I gave the chest a second top-to-bottom, end-to-end scan. The color and condition of the thing sorta reminded me of World War II memorabilia that I'd seen in museums during school field trips. I leaned forward and blew the dust and whatever off the lid. There appeared to be some kind of writing on it. Chinese or Japanese.

"Can you read this?" I gestured Yuy forward.

"Ah. It's a munitions chest. Japanese army."

"Japan hasn't had an army since World War II," Trowa contributed.

"What would it be doing here?" I asked, looking between him and Yuy.

Yuy answered. "Japan occupied this area briefly during the Second World War."

Scowling, I panned the area with my flashlight beam. "Is this the only one you've found?"

"Ah," he confirmed.

Well, this was weird. What were the odds that the Japanese army would have bothered to come inside this crumbling temple at all _and then _forget to take one lone box of shit with them when they left?

"Is it safe to open?" I looked over at Yuy. "I mean, d'you think there's a mine inside or something?"

"Some bullets or army rations perhaps…" Then he shrugged, expressing in eloquent silence that he really didn't have a clue.

I sighed and reached for the lid.

"Wait," Trowa whispered, playing the beam from his light over the wall above Yuy's discovery. "Look at this."

I did as instructed. "Ho—ly shit…"

I stood and gaped at what was written right there on the wall in what looked like black permanent marker. An illustration of a hand, then a quail chick, and a lasso. It was my name… in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. But, what was more… this was—

"My mom's handwriting."

Trowa looked up sharply. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, she always added this little scythe flourish to my name. A swoosh." I'd loved that swoosh as a kid. Looking at it now, the temple, the creepy crawlies, our ally of dubious motives all faded away and the past pressed forward. I remembered reading my own name – written just this way – on Christmas present tags; I remembered giggling as my mom signed my name with a swish on the toys I was determined to take to Hilde's house for playtime; I remembered that first afternoon spent sitting at our kitchen table while she'd shown me what my given name and my nickname would have looked like to the ancient Egyptians. She'd taught me their hieroglyphs. This had been _our _language. Me and my mom's.

"Oh, Christ," I choked. "She was here. She was _right here."_

I pressed my hand to the wall, uncaring of what might have been creeping or crawling or sliming or slithering over it as little as five minutes ago. I blinked my eyes, bit my lip, and forced the past back to where it belonged. I took a step back. Looking down at the chest, I said, "Open it."

No one objected this time.

Yuy fiddled with the latches and lifted the lid. Inside—

_"Nani?"_ he hissed.

I reached in and grabbed it before he could take it. I turned the object over in my hand and… yup, there it was. His name.

"This was my brother's iPod." I could not freakin' believe it, but there was no denying it. It was the same model, the same color, and on the back he'd written his initials: SLM. Sherman Lionel Maxwell. Solo.

I stared at the gizmo in my hand. It and the pair of once-upon-a-time-state-of-the-art mini earphones had been sealed up in an airtight plastic baggie. If the battery hadn't burst and corroded the contacts at some point over the last eight years, I could probably still use the damn thing. Christ, I'd lusted after this when Solo had gotten it for his birthday. I'd driven Solo _past the point of insane_ begging to listen to just one song on it.

Oh my God. What could have possibly convinced him to leave it here for me?

I looked up at my mother's handwriting. A chill shivered through me.

"Something else was kept in here," Trowa observed, pulling my attention back to the chest. I glanced down and, sure enough, there was a depression in the bottom lining. Something vaguely double-L shaped, like one "L" had been rotated 180-degrees and stacked on top of a second. It could almost have been a backwards "S" except it was far too angular. Well, whatever it was, it had been about a foot and a half long and each leg had stuck out for about eight inches at right angles. It had been something like four inches across from end to end, perfectly uniform.

"It's gone now," I agreed.

Yuy's shoulders slumped and, suddenly, I realized that this must be what he was looking for. The thing that had been taken from right here inside this chest was half of the key!

Holy fuck. It really existed. It was real and it was _out there _somewhere in the world.

I startled, looking down at the 2004 model iPod in my hand. Had my mom taken the key? Had she left Solo's music player for me as some sort of sign? Was there an audio file on this that would tell me where she'd taken this half of the key or what she'd done with it?

Wary and wondering if Yuy was drawing the same conclusions I was, I took a step back from him, stuffing the player into my jeans pocket. Suddenly, Trowa was there between us, bristling in silence… but Yuy still hadn't moved. He was staring into the chest, his hands on his knees, crouching on the grimy floor.

I have no idea what the guy was thinking or what he would have done. And I was never gonna find out, either; just then, the stones beneath our feet began to throb. All of us froze. Listened.

A rumbling slowly built and, though it was muffled through the walls and distorted as it echoed down the stairs from the roof, it had to be the sound of approaching diesel engines.

"Um, the plan?" I said by way of reminder, prompting Trowa to show-and-tell this awesome strategy of his that was going to save the day.

He nodded, but he didn't move away from Yuy. "If you're still going to help us, I need to know right now."

"I promised I would," Yuy replied tonelessly. "I will."

"Then we have to move."

I thought of the temple's fragile front entrance and I knew he was right. If Khushrenada decided to try the doorknocker, the three of us could be crushed in the resulting collapse. I didn't spare a thought for the creepy crawlies as I hauled ass back to the staircase we'd come down. The sunlight had thickened into the late afternoon variety, turning a rich gold in the time we'd been roaming and studying this place. I could see it spilling in through the base of the towers on either side of the one in the center, but there were no steps leading upward to either of those. Oh, super: there really was only one way out.

The three of us clambered back up the staircase as quickly as we could. In the surrounding meadow, the engines of robust off-road four-by-four Jeeps still chugged and growled. I thought I heard voices as well, but couldn't be sure. When I was a stretch away from peeking out over the bottom edge of the tower's open archway at the new arrivals below, Trowa grabbed my arm. My sneakers skidded against the slippery, worn stones and I almost lost my grip.

"The hell!" I hissed at him.

"Wait," he whispered back. On his opposite side, Yuy was crouching on the stairs, head just below the lip of the opening. "We'll wait until they're working. Everyone's staring at the temple now. They'll see us surely."

"Oh. Right. Obligatory gaping time. Gotcha." I tried to find a more comfortable seat. I couldn't.

"Be ready to run for the back edge of the roof if they try the front entrance," Trowa advised. "And stay low."

I nodded. Outside, I heard the engines cut and the sound of doors slamming. More than six doors. That meant they had at least two Jeeps. Or three with two doors apiece. I wondered if my dad was even now sitting out there, gazing up at where Trowa and I were hiding with our new friend. I wondered if he was OK – he wasn't gettin' any younger, y'know – and I wondered what I'd do about it if he wasn't.

"Hey," I breathed as the conversational jabber outside and five freakin' stories down continued to be completely unintelligible. "Gimme a preview."

Trowa quirked a brow at me.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to say it: "If they had to force him to talk… what should I expect?"

Trowa reached out and put an arm around my shoulders, drawing me right up against his side. He bent his head and whispered in my ear too softly for Yuy to hear, "He probably won't be able to use his hands."

What?! "His hands?" I mouthed back, fisting my own.

"The hands are highly sensitive and susceptible to extreme pain, but damaging them won't impair the captive's mobility, mind, or ability to communicate."

My stomach rolled onto a 25-foot-high diving platform and tossed itself over the edge. "Jesus Christ." I bit my lip to keep from gagging.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

I shook my head. "No. _I'm_ sorry." I gripped his forearm to anchor myself as I closed my eyes and concentrated on taking deliberate, even breaths. "I'm sorry you know shit like that at all." Which begged the question of whether or not he'd ever been called upon to use that knowledge. I decided I couldn't think about that right now. Instead, a new horror was unveiling itself before me.

"Oh, fuck," I rasped. "Last night…" When I'd slept so warm and peacefully beside him, when he'd kissed me and I'd kissed him back, when I'd lost myself in the hot rush of his body heat and the sound of his voice… "Were they—?" I gritted my teeth and spat the question out, "Were they hurting him?"

Trowa sucked in a breath.

"No." I jerked my head away. "No, don't answer that. Stupid question."

"Duo," he insisted, growling at me. "You needed to rest and you needed to focus so you could be strong for him _now._ Your father will heal."

"But I should've—"

"You are doing everything you can."

"Short of hiring a private army." Of course I thought of it _now._

"No," Trowa objected in a soft, quiet tone. "You would never be able to place so little value on human life."

I opened my mouth to argue. I shut it. He was right. There was no way in the world I could pay someone to throw themselves in front of a bullet just so I could get something I wanted. Even for my dad's sake. I could never do that. I instantly hated myself.

"Your father knows that about you," Trowa continued, "and he loves you for it."

Maybe that was true, but it wasn't very helpful. How had I gotten us into this? We were sitting on the equivalent of an ancient time bomb, waiting to see if some bozo down there was gonna hitch up his car to the stone door in an attempt bust into the place. We were one idiot away from running for our lives.

"He's gonna be pissed about this," I predicted darkly.

"And proud," Trowa argued.

I rolled my eyes and grumped, "How d'you figure that?"

In the next instant, he grabbed my braid at the base of my neck and jerked me toward him, and then he kissed me. _Hard._ When he pulled back, I just blinked at him, so shocked I couldn't even…

"Guess," he ordered me.

"Oh." That was all I said as I stared at the banked rage and fear churning the one green eye I could see, at the proud smile that tightened his lips. "That's why."

"Yah," he said.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I was torn between laughing, crying, punching him in the gut for yanking on my hair, and curling up in a ball so I'd never have to face the world again. My fingers tightened around the rifle at my side. Damn. I'd never really thought about what it would mean to me to hear Trowa tell me he was proud of me. It should have been patronizing, but it wasn't. It really, really wasn't. It scared me. It scared me that I could lose that before this was all over. I could fuck up and lose that.

I felt my other hand start to shake. Trowa grabbed it and squeezed my fingers tightly.

"No!" I heard someone – a man – say from over the wall and in the field below. It was a voice of authority, but I didn't recognize it. "The structure is too weak in this area to risk opening the door without stabilizing the stone casing first."

"Out of curiosity, what makes it unstable?"

I stiffened. I knew that voice. That was Mr. I-beg-your-pardon-while-I-read-over-your-shoulder-in-first-class. That was Treize Khushrenada. I was kinda surprised that he'd bothered to come all the way out here with his henchmen, but I guess if you wanted something done right, you had to supervise it yourself.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Twenty bucks said the greedy, power-hungry bastard's pants weren't even wrinkled from the ride.

The guy I was pretty sure I hadn't met yet explained grudgingly, "Many of these stones have been treated with caustic chemicals. They're little more than solidified chalk dust."

Well, wasn't that nicely vivid? At least it answered my question as to why ancient people would have used crappy stones: they hadn't. Someone else had come along and crap-ified them later. Maybe whoever had hidden the key here in the first place.

"Ah. Thank you, Professor Chang. As always, your assistance proves itself invaluable."

Rather than acknowledging the compliment, Chang barked out orders for someone (or several someones) to dig the hi-lift jacks out of the vehicles and, a few minutes of clanking and banging later, we heard the sounds of metal scraping against stone as they got to work. It looked like we were gonna be here for a while.

Trowa motioned for me to turn my back to him. I perched awkwardly on the steps while he rummaged in my pack. He then handed me a hunk of some kind of jerky and a bamboo tube of what looked like sticky rice. Food. Ugh. I was so not even interested. Interest was still back in Vientiane barefoot, lost, and reading the roadmap to Enlightenment upside-down.

"Eat," he instructed and, sighing, I did. Oddly enough, I felt better afterward. Less queasy and more alert. Still, for the record, waiting for the opportune moment sucks rocks. Slimy ones.

The acoustics of the temple amplified every metal clank and rough scrape, but no matter how hard I listened, I did not hear the voice I was waiting for. Hell, no one even mentioned my dad. I was beginning to wonder if he'd come along at all… which made me wonder if he'd already outlived his usefulness…

_Crack!_

I jumped and looked automatically in the direction of what had sounded like thunder on a clear, sunny day.

_Cr-cr-cr-crk-k-k—!_

No, it wasn't thunder. It was the door. Or maybe it was the stone casing and collapse was imminent.

_CRACK! BOOM! Hisssssss…_

Before I could swallow my heart back down into my chest where it belonged, a raucous cheer went up. Damn, that sounded like a lotta helpers. A small army of them. And it sounded like they were all expecting to get hazard pay bonuses now that they'd broken down the damn front door.

Trowa nudged my shoulder. That was our cue. I hurriedly wiggled and winced up to the roof. Now that everyone was probably too busy congratulating themselves to be paying close attention to movement above, we could scope out the scene. We stayed low and scanned the small, overgrown field. My gaze leapt from one Jeep to another (and there were six in all), finally stopping at the sight of a machete-armed Laotian opening one of the doors and impatiently motioning for someone sitting in the back seat to get out of the vehicle. I held my breath as my dad complied slowly, gingerly.

I could tell that he was keeping his face expressionless by some length of his pride. That damn British lord's pride. Even with his wrists bound in front of him and the fingers of his right hand bandaged, he stood tall.

_"Squared shoulders, lifted chin! The mark of a good man is how he carries himself, Dominic!"_

Fuck, I could still remember his lectures on the subject when I'd been a slouchy, sneaker-toe-scuffing kid. And here he was looking like he was about to hold court despite the bindings and bandages. Suddenly, I understood how it was possible to be furious with someone even as you were overflowing with pride.

But back to the bastard who was in serious need of an ass-whoopin'…

I glared down at the pompous and posturing supposed advocate of world peace. My fingers curled into claws against the weather-beaten stones. I felt Trowa's thigh bump mine in reminder. Yeah, I wanted to scream until the bastard's head exploded. And then I wanted to rip what was left of it off the sonuvabitch's Goddamn shoulders and stomp on it. I clenched my jaw. It was painful strangling that impulse into submission, but I'd wait for my chance. That was the only option that would help my dad now.

When Khushrenada waved my father toward the entrance of the temple, Trowa began squirming back to the staircase, tugging on my belt until I gave in and followed him.

"Can you contact O and J?" Trowa rasped at Yuy.

I almost burst out laughing. O and J. OJ. Duh. Of _course._

Yuy nodded and pulled out a cell phone.

"Do it," Trowa commanded. "Pick up on the roof in twenty minutes."

With a nod, Yuy moved up the stairs, maybe to catch a stronger signal.

"Can we trust him not to take off and leave us here?" I mused, more abstractly curious than anything.

"He knows you have the iPod your mother left behind in your pocket. He's not going anywhere without that and, therefore, _you."_

And I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere without Trowa, so I guess we didn't have anything to worry about.

"C'mon," Trowa further ordered. I was kinda liking this assertive, take-charge version of him. Had the circumstances been different, I would've been tripping all over myself to catalog all the sexyisms he was exhibiting. "Let's get your father." He hooked his hand under my arm and led me back down into the temple.

My next question was _"How?"_ but I didn't actually have time to ask it. From below, flashlight beams began playing over the muck-covered stones of the temple's main gallery. The sounds of footsteps were only seconds behind them. Trowa nudged me against a shadowed wall which provided us a decent vantage point from which to track the new arrivals.

"Spread out!" Khushrenada ordered cheerfully. "Look for a hiding place, an altar or a box of some sort. Summon the professor if you find anything that could be significant."

"And hurry," Chang added. "A few steel jacks won't hold that casing stable for long."

A translator conveyed this and there was a moment of confusion as the dozen hired henchmen scattered in all directions, beginning what could be called a systematic search only by a _great _stretch of the imagination.

"Wonderful," Trowa grunted, monitoring their chaotic movements.

I was more interested in Chang. He looked every bit as Chinese as his name. He also looked familiar somehow. It wasn't until he scowled in my general direction that it hit me: he'd been on the plane, too. I'd assumed he was the heir to some Chinese mega corporation or something, but he was a _professor?_ The hell. The guy couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me. Where'd he get his degree? Outta a cup of instant ramen noodles?

Well, wherever he'd gotten it, it had impressed Khushrenada enough to bring him along on his little jaunt of terror through the Laotian countryside.

I watched Chang join in the search and begin bossily directing men where to look. Ah, the joys of midlevel management.

My father moved toward the Buddha. His captor followed.

"I'm sure you imagined you'd be standing here with your son," Treize Khushrenada said in an off-handed tone as he peered up at the mighty stone statue. I had to bite my lip to keep the bray of laughter contained. _Hah! Shows what you know, you worthless pile of cockroach munch._ He continued with manufactured sincerity, "My apologies, Lord Maxwell."

My dad kept his distance from the guy. I doubted it was because he was wary of him. I was too far away to be sure, but it was more likely that the slime bag was simply too repulsive for my dad to bring himself to stand next to him. "I have imagined many things, Mr. Khushrenada," my dad replied in a tone that I knew from experience promised Serious Trouble. "Some of which have already come to pass."

Whoa. Did my dad just threaten Mr. Big Shot Khushrenada? I think so!

Bonus.

Khushrenada seemed amused by this but said nothing else. The hired goons-with-guns quickly infested the temple, four on each of the main levels. Trowa drew me back even further into the shadows on the third level and we waited for our chance. I still didn't know how in the hell we were gonna get my dad up here and it was starting to really worry me. But Trowa was standing next to me, as calm as could be. Part of me admired him for it. Another part of me wanted to stomp on his foot.

I waffled back and forth between admiration and stomapage. I hadn't always been this indecisive. I wonder when that had happened. Or maybe I was simply getting better at self-restraint. So… did that mean that I'd gotten stronger or had my juvenile impulses weaker?

That sounded, vaguely, like that stupid chicken versus egg question. I'd ruminate on it later.

Instead, I alternated between staring at my dad, willing him to pick up on my psychic mind waves which were trying to tell him that I was nearby and getting ready to rescue him, and watching Trowa oversee the movements of Khushie's troops. It only took them about ten minutes of crawling through the rooms on the third level before I heard something that could have been a cuss word in Lao. Or maybe a "eureka!" I waited for it, knowing what the guy had just found and, sure enough—

"Plufessul Xang!"

Chang was charging up the steps before the last syllable of his very badly mispronounced title and family name finished echoing. The other searchers on this level swarmed into that one tiny room where the metal chest had been left. Flashlight beams on the first and second floors congregated near the stairs. Yeah, the Easter Egg Hunt was over with, boys. Time to turn in your baskets.

Five seconds after Chang disappeared into the maze of rooms, I heard him direct, "Take it downstairs and keep searching! The artifact could be hidden elsewhere in the structure."

This first task seemed to require all four guys who had been searching our level, leaving Chang behind in the room with my mom's graffiti. The other eight goon guys grudgingly returned to their survey of the other levels. But I was sensing that now was our chance: Chang was alone up here with us. Two against one.

Trowa shifted out of the shadows, motioning for me to follow him. It was time to go to work.

We ghosted through the level, keeping low and out of sight from the people below. (Not that anyone was looking up here. They were all oohing and aahing over that stupid chest.) We slipped up to the crumbling entrance of the room where Chang was probably focusing on trying to figure out that not-quite-hieroglyphic message. Trowa leaned forward to get a look at guy's position. He pulled back and whispered into my ear, "Wait five seconds and then make a little noise."

My eyes widened. Was he _sure…?_

"Trust me," he mouthed.

I nodded. He slipped into the darkness of the room in perfect silence. I counted to five. And then I took a deep breath, stepped into view of the archway and cleared my throat.

Chang was so deep in puzzlement over the swoosh my mom had written under my name that his nose was almost touching the filthy wall. In fact, he didn't even hear me.

I rolled my eyes. How embarrassing.

_"Nihao,"_ I sang on a whisper and _that _got his attention. He startled, turning his flashlight toward me and then suddenly, before the beam could make it all the way to the threshold of the room, both he and it froze. I moved into the room, avoiding the light, as I heard Trowa's voice hiss softly, "I have no interest in killing you, but I will if you do not cooperate. Understand?"

I shivered and waited for my eyes to readjust to the gloom.

Chang replied, "I understand."

"Do not speak unless I tell you to. Put your hands up. Right. Now behind your head. Good."

Trowa plucked the flashlight from the man's grasp and tossed it to me. I kept it pointing toward the wall where it wouldn't blind Trowa.

"Now," he continued, "call Lord Maxwell up here."

Ah, now the plan was comin' together. Brilliant. Trowa was brilliant. My admiration knew no bounds at this point.

I watched as Chang swallowed. His Adam's apple moved against the knife blade poised over his throat. I tensed at the hard look in the man's black eyes. He was furious even though Trowa had both his wrists in a very uncomfortable-looking grip.

"Do not make me repeat myself," he hissed, applying pressure and pulling Chang's hands further down behind his head, stretching the guy's triceps and threatening to dislocate a shoulder or two.

Chang complied with the request. "Lord Maxwell!" he shouted, his voice echoing out into the main gallery and below. "I require your assistance!"

There was a moment of curious silence from outside, and then the scuff-and-step of a familiar, measured stride.

"Do watch your step," I heard Treize Khushrenada say oily.

It wasn't until I heard the sound of footsteps ascending stairs, that I released the breath I was holding and started breathing normally. For some reason, I'd expected some kind of delay or refusal. Thank God we hadn't had to force Chang to give some kind of password like in the movies.

Every step seemed to take an enormous chunk of time. An entire age of the Earth. Dinosaurs could have re-evolved and gone extinct yet again what with how damn _long _it was taking my dad to haul his ass up here. Shit, I hoped that didn't mean he was injured on top of whatever they'd done to his hand, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do about that now except hope that he really was OK… ish.

Finally, after I'd nearly convinced myself that I was stuck in one of those slow-motion horror movie nightmares, I heard my dad's huffing breaths as he reached the top of the last staircase.

"Call to him again," Trowa prompted his captive.

Glowering, Chang did. "In here, Lord Maxwell."

I could just _imagine_ the words my dad's pride wouldn't let him mutter: _Fantastic. More bloody stairs._ I clenched my jaw to keep the slightly hysterical chuckle from squeaking out.

My dad waited a moment, taking several deep breaths before tackling the next flight. When he'd reached the top, I waved the flashlight, signaling him closer with the beam. Then, I waited, alternately reminding myself to relax and then tensing right back up again, until he was a step away from the threshold.

"How can I be of assistance?" he asked.

And then he entered the room.

I was there in an instant, keeping the flashlight beam steady on the far wall even as I was pressing a hand over his mouth. "Shh, dad, it's me," I whispered. "It's Duo."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chang twitch. I almost bit my own tongue. Damn it. No doubt he was glancing at the name written on the wall and putting two and two together. Shit. Why hadn't I just painted a freakin' bull's eye on my forehead? Trowa was gonna kick my ass.

"Dominic?" my dad rasped in a hushed whisper. "What in the bloody hell are you doing here?!"

"Rescuing my old man," I retorted. "Duh."

Before my dad could start lecturing me or threaten to ground me for the rest of my natural life, Trowa instructed me, "Take him upstairs. Our twenty minutes are almost up."

"Copy that," I replied, setting the flashlight down on the floor and rolling it over to Trowa's foot. I started tugging my dad toward the door.

"Dominic," he objected softly.

I paused and turned toward him. I wanted to get him a good head start before Trowa did whatever he was gonna do to Professor Chang to keep the guy from alerting Khushers to our presence, but first dad and I were gonna need to establish some ground rules. "Tro and I have it all under control. Trust me for two more sets of stairs and then I will answer any damn question you have."

"Trowa?" he echoed, startled.

Damn. Of course he'd pick up on that. "I called. He came," I summarized… and then tried not to wince at that last word and the incriminating evidence on the second bed of our most recent hotel. "And, by the way, yes," I continued. "You and I are gonna have a talk about him real soon."

My dad actually chuckled. Here we were, about to make a mad dash through dank and crumbling ruins in a bid for escape, hoping for rescue (which may or may not be on time), and he was _chortling._

"It's about time," was all he said.

"Duo, go," Trowa commanded quietly.

I nodded and pulled my dad out of the room. I timed it so that the footsteps of the guys being ordered back up to the third level to keep searching covered our departure. It felt like it took only seconds for us to make it back to the steps leading above. It's true what they say: the homestretch really is the shortest.

"Here," I told him, pushing him into the murky recess beside the stairway to heaven. "When you hear the helicopter, start up these steps. Watch your head – there's a tower above us."

"Where are you going?" He reached for my arm but I evaded his grip easily.

"Gotta check on Tro." And then I was dashing soundlessly on the rubber soles of my sneakers back toward the room where I'd left Trowa with Chang. The four Laotian goons were nearly at the top of the stairs and I had to duck behind a pile of crumbled wall and wait for them to disperse before I could risk a lunge for the steps.

At that precise moment, however, a slow drumbeat began to throb through the air. I held my breath and listened…

No, that wasn't a drumbeat and it wasn't slow. It was—

_Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop—!_

The chopper was here. And, damn it, where the fuck was Trowa?!

I stood up. I drew the hunting knife from the back of my belt. I took a step around the rubble I'd been crouching behind.

And then—

_Crack!_

_Hissssss…_

I shook my head, blinking, as dust from above rained down on my head. No, not dust. Pulverized stone. Bits of stone. Like busted chalk.

_Oh… shit._

_CRACK! CLANG!_

_Hisss…isss…issss…!_

I didn't waste time hoping I hadn't just heard one of the jacks on the front entrance giving way. Just as my own shout for Trowa got tangled up around my Adam's apple, the men on all three levels cried out and freakin' _raced _for the stairs. I moved out into the open, knowing they were all far too busy scrambling for the exit on the ground floor to worry about who I was, what I was doing here, or where I'd come from.

I raced to the staircase at the base of the room just in time to see Trowa wrestling with a very much alive and pissed-off-looking Professor Chang. He shoved the guy in the direction of the stairs and then drew a pistol when Chang swiveled back to him, hands fisted.

"You have risked everything," he hissed and then, with a murderous glare in my direction, he leapt down the steps and raced for the next flight of stairs.

Trowa didn't hang around pondering the guy's parting words. "Duo!" he shouted, equally unconcerned about being overheard. "Get to the stairs!"

_CRACK!_

_CRACK! CRACK!_

_Hisss…_

I held out a hand to him even as I started jogging backwards. And it was a good thing I had, too.

_CRACK!_

_Hisss…_

_BOOM!_

"Fuck!" I sputtered as dust rained down in a torrent and the stones beneath my feet shook. The ceiling opened up above us and a block came crashing down, smashing through the floor not two feet away, between us and the exit. If I'd been moving any faster, I woulda been pancaked. Squish! No need for confessions of the heart, then.

Trowa grasped my hand and tugged me back against him. I glanced above and then at the now-gaping hole in our path, then back up again. When the next crash came from across the temple, Trowa gave me a shove and I daringly jumped the space. Trowa was an instant behind.

"DAD!" I shouted. "GET YOUR ASS UP THOSE STAIRS!"

I could see him hesitating midway up.

The cracks of buckling stone, the booms of falling blocks, and the hiss of dust resettling echoed all around us. The air was growing thick with debris. I was getting seriously concerned that the towers were gonna be next to fold.

"MOVE!" I ordered him, racing with Tro toward the exit.

And then my worst nightmare swooped down into my waking life.

The towers fell.

To my left, the ceiling gave way and the stone monolith crashed through, obliterating its way through one level after another. Then on my right, the same drama of destruction played out.

"No, God, _please…!"_

But my prayer was too late.

I was too far away to do anything except watch as the sunlight illuminating my dad turned dark with shadow… and then crumbling stone.

_"NO!"_

I was barely aware of Trowa's arms around my waist, holding me back from meeting those tumbling blocks head on. I thrashed against him. At some point, I'd dropped the hunting knife which was just as well. I might have cut us both to shreds if I'd still had it in my possession.

And then the dust was settling and Trowa was shoving me toward the haphazardly piled blocks, aiming me toward the tiny window of sky we could still see.

"Dad! _Dad! DAD!"_

Trowa pushed and I grasped and pulled, squirming my way upward in a panic-fueled frenzy. I squeezed my way through the narrow fissure, kicking and punching my way free.

"DAD!"

I shouted, but I didn't see him. I reached a hand back for Trowa, felt his fingers grip my wrist and, bracing myself against whatever was beneath my sneakers, I pulled him through. Once he got his hips through the opening, I was scrambling up the cracked and broken stairs, shoving at the bits and pieces of what had once been a magnificent tower.

And then, just inside the hollowed-out stone cap, I found him.

_"Dad!"_ I dived in and reached for him, grabbing his arms and pulling at him.

He didn't budge.

"Trowa!" I screamed and suddenly he was there, but instead of his hands joining mine, he was gripping the edge of a stone slab as if he could somehow lift it. He couldn't of course. The thing had to weigh like five hundred freakin' pounds and I just could not understand why he was worrying about that when I needed his help over _here—!_

My father's face twitched. He groaned. He'd been knocked out, but he was gonna be OK.

"C'mon, work with me here, old man," I begged breathlessly. The temple was cracking, booming, and crumbling around us. Another metallic _clang_ of a jack snapping under stress punctuated the temple's death throes. Above us, I could hear the chopper's rotor blades beating at the air, thrashing and shaking the fragile structure.

Trowa gave up on lifting. Bracing his shoulder against the block and wedging his feet against another mound of rubble, he started shoving.

It was at this moment that I realized why he was so focused on the damn block of stone. It was lying on top of my dad's legs.

_Oh God…!_

"Dom—inic," my dad coughed just as cold realization speared me through the chest.

I shook my head. "No. No way. You're coming with us!" I ordered him pulling on his dust-covered arms. But it was no use. Trowa couldn't budge the stone. I couldn't pull my dad free. The temple was collapsing around us.

"Go with Trowa, Dominic," my dad said, his voice weak and raspy. So unlike him.

"I'm not leaving you behind _again!"_ I screamed.

_"Go,"_ he repeated, his gaze piercing.

"No…"

The remnants of the staircase beneath us trembled, fragmented in a series of cracks that rang out like gunshots. Suddenly, Trowa's arms were wrapping around my waist, pulling me away. The instant my hands slid off my dad's arms, his eyes slid closed and his lips curved into a smile. He looked peaceful. Relieved. Hopeful.

How could that be?

I was so confused I didn't know if I was running or struggling or just letting myself be dragged.

My dad… I had to get to my dad…!

"Duo, _please!"_

He was just there! Just _there! Just…!_

"I can't do this without you. _Please, DUO!"_

Trowa. Trowa was shouting at me. He needed me. But my dad…!

"I'm not leaving you here!" he roared.

Leaving…? No, I wasn't leaving my dad here. I was not leaving him—

"Duo." This time, Trowa's voice was soft, beckoning. I blinked and looked at him. "Do you love me?" he asked. I blinked again. I felt the vibrations of the grinding stones against the soles of my feet.

He didn't wait for me to answer. "Then come with me. Please."

Something in me shifted. The metaphysical ropes that had been binding me to my promise not to leave my dad behind… They snapped. I grasped Trowa's hand.

I'd never run a race over a tumbling, jutting, breaking road before. I almost tripped once and Trowa hauled me up. Then, he almost fell and I pulled him after me. An instant later, the helicopter was right in front of us and Yuy was reaching out a hand. Trowa shoved my arm into it as he grabbed the side of the loading door and braced his feet on the chopper's landing skid.

When I took my next breath, I realized I was being lifted up – the whole machine was lifting away – and the world was crumbling beneath us. Dust plumed up into the air again and again with every booming crash. I helped Yuy haul Trowa into the cargo hold and then I was staring out at the still-crumbling ruins. I felt Trowa's arms around my waist as he anchored me where I knelt by the open doorway.

All I could do was cling to the threshold and watch as the stones fell inward, crashing and clapping against each other like thunder.

_Boom… boom… boom…!_

I just sat there and watched.

On the western horizon, behind the grey veil billowing up from the ruins, the sun was setting.

* * *

NOTES:

The Buddha Park (about 25 kilometers southeast of Vientiane) is _not_ surrounded by jungle according to Google Earth. Was this another use of my Artistic License? Yes, I think so.

Wat Dong Sao (the temple) is a fictional temple located in the real Dong Hua Sao National Park in Southern Laos. It's based on Ta Keo (a real temple) which is located in Thailand.

On the subject of Ass versus Arse, I'm actually not sure which one is more common for English speakers from South Africa, but I really like Duo's amusement over Trowa's use of the latter.

* * *

Other notes on South African English, Lao pronunciation, and Mandarin:

Gogga = a bug, creepy-crawly (pronounced GOH-gha… I think, emphasis on the first syllable)

Skrik = a fright

I tried to give the title and name "Professor Chang" the correct pronunciation slant in Lao, using the wikitravel site as a guide.

"Nihao" means "hello" in Mandarin Chinese.

* * *

**ALSO -** I'll be finishing up the next chunk of the Tomb Raiders story ("Appearances") and starting on the next ("Prom Night") before I start posting updates again. In the meantime, I'll be sharing some more one-shot continuations from the TooT-verse. AND, while "Ruins" is very action-y, "Appearances" and "Prom Night" are not. I need my fix of relationship stuffz and character development. So there. More action-y goodness will reenter the story in "The Quest" (which follows "Prom Night"). OK. That is all.


	5. Appearances, Part 1

**Warnings:** language, shounen ai/yaoi (reference to male/male sexytiems), reference to torture, reference to character death, angst (duh)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

**Notes:** Not so much action-y stuff happening here. Gotta deal with the fallout and there's a LOT of fallout.

* * *

Recommended music for _Appearances - Part 1_ - "Favorite Color" by One Less Reason (Check them out on CDbaby's online independent music store or iTunes.)

* * *

If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate posts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Appearances - Part 1: Darlian & Dominic"

* * *

**Appearances – Part 1** (Trowa POV)

The destruction of the temple was guaranteed to make the international news. The networks, once they learned that a British lord might have been trapped inside at the time of its collapse, would undoubtedly embellish what pseudo facts they could either find or manufacture with morbid sensationalism. The very idea of it sickened me. I could only imagine what this would do to Duo. I swore to myself that he wouldn't see any of it. Not for as long as I could help it.

After the helicopter landed in Vientiane, I drove him to a different hotel. He didn't bother to take off his shoes or shrug out of his dust-covered jacket upon entering the room. He was still wearing the belt with the utility knife and the now-empty hunting knife sheath when he sat down on the bed closest to the door.

"I'll be back with provisions soon," I told him. His silence was scaring me but I wasn't prepared for his grief, for reaction to set in. I needed him to keep it together just a little longer. I went through his pockets until I found his cell phone and pressed it into his hands. "Call me if you need me."

I waited a moment. He blinked once in response. I went.

I was back in twenty minutes with bottled water, new toothbrushes, soap, facial tissues, and an assortment of likely-edible snack items. The pharmacy had been the only shop still open at this hour and I hadn't had the patience to explain the concept of takeaway to any of the restaurants nearby. Nor had my stomach recognized the scents wafting out from their doors as anything resembling food.

Duo hadn't moved in the entire time I'd been gone. He was still sitting there on the end of the warped bed with his phone in his hands, his eyes dry and his braid windblown from the scooter ride back to downtown. The creases in his denims and jacket were still dusty.

"Duo," I said, locking the door behind me and setting my shopping down on the nearest available surface.

He didn't move.

I knelt in front of him. Perhaps in supplication: I was sorry – so bloody sorry – but I couldn't bring myself to say the words, to rip open the wound he seemed determined to clamp shut and seal up like the cuts on his hands from this morning. I asked, "Do you want to take a shower?"

I placed my hands on his arms, willing him to look at me. I wasn't looking forward to seeing his pain, but I needed him to come back to reality. I didn't know what to do for him or for his father whose body was buried under cold, filthy stone in the dark jungle. I didn't know anything and I hated it. I was one instant away from screaming or from shaking him or kissing him or—

"I left him," he said.

The sound of his voice almost made me sag with relief. "You honored his only request," I argued, my throat aching with too many emotions. "You chose not to die."

He shook his head and stared at his hands. "I chose you."

At any other time, those words would have thrilled me. They would have been the air I breathed. Now they did nothing less than tear my heart to pieces. I pulled off his shoes and kicked my boots away. Then I wrapped my arms around him and hauled him back onto the bed and held him until he finally passed out from exhaustion.

He cried in his sleep. That was when I acknowledged the fact that we needed help.

After my shirt sleeve was spotted and smeared with his tears, I untangled myself from him, took my phone out into the hallway and called Marshall Noventa. I told him everything that had happened. He promised to call the embassy and take care of it: "I'll make sure a recovery operation is launched. One of my colleagues will be joining you and Dominic as soon as he can get on a flight."

I told him where we were staying and explained the security precautions I would require.

"He'll be there by the end of the day tomorrow."

"Thank you." I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Look after Dominic," he requested and I felt heat gather at the back of my eyes. Tears.

"With my life," I promised and hung up.

I checked to make sure that my face was dry before I went back into the room. It was. All my tears were on the inside. Not that Duo noticed. He slept until dawn.

Dawn: the world had kept on turning all throughout the night. It seemed so impossible, so absurd. But here was the evidence. It was a new day.

I didn't so much convince Duo to take a shower as I made it unavoidable. When he woke, I made him eat; I stripped him down to his shorts; I pulled him into the bathroom and started up the water.

"Wash up," I told him, pressing my forehead to his as I grasped his shoulders, "and then come back to me."

When he sighed in defeat, I knew he wasn't completely lost and I left him to it. I took the opportunity to turn on the TV. Aerial footage of a collapsed ruin in the southern jungles of Laos was the first thing I saw. The press helicopters were circling the destroyed temple like vultures. I watched until I felt physically ill. I sat on the foot of the bed, listening to the water run and Duo splashing in the shower, and I started remembering.

There were so many things I should have done differently. I should not have relied on the tools that Treize's people had used to brace the entrance open. I should have realized that a helicopter at close range would have provided more concussive force than the six Land Rovers. I should have just killed Chang and followed Duo and his father. If I'd done at least that, then all three of us would have been clear of the stairs and towers before the helo had arrived. I purposefully didn't think of the half dozen mercenaries Khushrenada had left posted outside and the automatic rifles slung over each man's shoulder. I thought only of what I hadn't done, what might have worked, how I had probably failed.

I hadn't killed Chang. I hadn't been able to become a mercenary to Duo. The thought of letting him see me do something like that had repulsed me. Even if I'd waited until they'd left me alone with Khushrenada's expert, even if no one had watched me do it, Duo would have _known._ He would have seen the blood on my hands and I wouldn't have been able to lie to him.

I watched the pictures flash and wobble on the television screen as I went over the entire operation, finding other options with ease now that I was aided by hindsight, now that it was too late.

Too bloody late.

I'd fucked up and now Duo's father was dead. If he never forgave me, it would be nothing less than what I deserved.

I shut off the TV when I heard the squeal of the water faucets being rotated shut. I lifted my head from my hands when I heard the bathroom door open.

Duo emerged in nothing but a pair of clean shorts. He had two flannels draped over his shoulders. There was a brush in his hand. He sat down on my right and passed it to me.

"I'm too tired to do it," he explained and I gladly began my penance for my failure, wringing the water from his hair with one of the flannels. I would not fail him again. Anything he asked of me which would benefit him, I would do.

"It's not your fault."

My hands faltered when I realized he'd spoken. I blinked. "What?"

"What happened," he said, turning toward me and skewering me with a look of such keen understanding that I felt it draw blood, "wasn't your fault."

I just gaped at him.

With shopping list dispassion, he continued, "You would have had to kill that Chang guy in order to come with us, but then the goons outside would have seen us on the roof with my dad before the chopper got there and we'd probably all be dead. Or—"

The words were not spoken sharply, but they were sharp enough. I gasped like I'd just been stabbed in the gut.

"If we'd waited until we heard the chopper and then released Chang, the tower still would have come down. You and I could have made it through that gap but not… him."

I closed my eyes. My fingers curled into the flannel with vicious strength.

But Duo wasn't finished ruthlessly exposing the futility of my self-blame. "Or we could have brought Chang with us as a hostage."

"Would that have worked?" I forced myself to ask.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Probably not. He was pissed at you. He tried to fight you at the end even with the temple falling down around us." His hands fisted on his thighs. "If he'd tripped you, shoved you off the ledge and into the gallery… I wouldn't have been able to leave you there – no matter what – and then I'd have gotten my d—_him_ killed anyway." And himself right along with him.

I didn't remind Duo that I was a good fighter, an _experienced _fighter who was used to winning. I could recognize potential resistance when I encountered it. I knew how to tell if my opponent was skilled. I'd known in the instant I'd captured him that Chang would have to be handled with care. Or eliminated. He wouldn't give me any other choice in the matter. But hindered as I'd been by my hesitance to take the man's life with Duo looking on… Ja, Chang might have managed to knock me off-balance, but still—

"I shouldn't have let him go. I should have killed him." I looked into Duo's eyes as I said it.

"I should have hired an army." His smile was knowing, understanding, revealing.

Just like that, I was forgiven. Duo knew that I'd be as able to kill in his presence as he'd be able to grossly devalue human life. Both were impossible. He knew that and, if the look on his face was any indication, he respected me for it.

Chest aching, throat clamped shut, eyes burning, I went back to wringing out the shower water from Duo's hair, working until my hands were trembling from exhaustion instead of simply trembling. He showed me how to brush his hair – "One handful at a time; start from the bottom and work your way up" – and it wasn't until I was midway through that I realized I was crying. My tears spilled hot and silent over my lashes but I did not allow them to interrupt my work. When I was done, Duo took the brush from my hand and grasping my wrists, pulled me to my feet. I followed him into the bathroom where he stripped me down to my undershirt and shorts and turned on the shower.

He hauled my rucksack into the bathroom, kissed me on my wet, salty lips and said, "I'll be waiting in other room."

And when I got done washing away the dirt and tears, he was. His hair was braided and tied back with the string from my jacket. He watched me as I sat down on the bed and then he reached out a hand. I took it and I wrapped myself around him like I was broken without him holding me together.

We didn't talk. Neither of us moved to turn on the TV or open the curtains. We shared a bruised pear for breakfast. For an early lunch, we ate the last of the rice I'd bought the day before. We ignored the junk food I'd bought the night before. We slept but, mostly, we just held on.

As I buried my face in the side of his neck yet again, I marveled. I could not understand him: not his forgiveness or his uncanny ability to understand me, to know what I needed to hear, to do, to feel.

Oh God, I loved him. It was all I could to not to tell him that, not to mingle that truth with the pain he was feeling now. I wrestled with the impulse until a knock came at the door just after noon.

Although I was expecting it, I drew the hunting knife and kept it in my hand as I stood and moved to answer the door. Duo scooped up his utility knife and rolled off the bed to crouch beside the bathroom wall, out of sight.

The voice which called through the door was vaguely familiar. He used the code phrase I'd instructed Noventa to pass on. I unlocked and –warily – opened the door.

"Mr. Darlian," I greeted.

"Mr. Barton."

I put the knife away, making no effort to conceal the action. We shook hands.

This man from the London branch of the law firm was currently arranging for me to be given permission to enter and work in Britain just as Marshall Noventa was working on the American side of things. At the time, I hadn't understood the logic of applying to live and work in two countries simultaneously, but now I could see how useful it was going to be. Lord Maxwell's business was based in those two nations and Duo was probably the man's sole heir. With these documents, I'd be able to go wherever Duo went.

"Come in," I invited, moving back.

Darlian did. "Dominic?"

Standing up and tucking the utility knife away, Duo sighed. "Thomas."

He didn't ask how Duo was feeling. He didn't ask if we'd seen the news or heard any word on the retrieval of Lord Maxwell's body. He placed his hands on Duo's shoulders and said, "You cannot stay here, my lord."

Duo flinched at the title. As did I. It was all I could do not to throw up on the stained carpet tiles.

I distracted myself from the churning in my nearly-empty guts by gathering up our things as Darlian gently but insistently bullied Duo toward the door. "I've a car waiting downstairs and I've made a reservation for you at the Settha Palace."

"No, I'll stay here," Duo said, surprising me.

Rather than look confused, Thomas Darlian gave Duo a sympathetic smile. "I know you don't want to leave, but you have a duty to perform."

Something told me this was only the first of many.

"Trowa comes with me," he dictated.

Darlian merely nodded. "Of course."

We took a private taxicab to a posh establishment that somehow looked both homey and enormous. It also looked expensive. It looked like the kind of place the son of a lord would choose in order to take refuge with his grief. There was no check-in. Darlian waved the lobby clerks away and we carried our own bags.

Our destination was a suite of rooms on the top floor. A glimpse into the bathroom revealed an oversized bathtub with whirlpool jets. The sitting room windows had both well-dusted blinds and starched curtains. The hardwood floors were polished. The television was digital: flat and widescreen.

It turned my stomach.

Darlian removed a black garment bag from the hall cupboard and passed it to Duo without a word. I spotted a pair of black leather wingtip shoes resting on the floor inside. Given the quality of the footwear alone, it was likely that the garment bag contained a suit that had cost more money than the entire Barton Troupe pulled in over the course of a good year.

"The press are asking for a statement," Darlian said not unkindly. "We're expected at the British embassy within the hour."

I stared at Duo, at his wrinkled T-shirt and dusty denims, at his stained takkies and the string holding his braid together. I imagined what was in the bag: a mask, a role that had to be played. I felt overwhelmed and it wasn't even my life.

It struck me then that despite Duo's attitude and street smarts, despite his charm and irreverent humor, he was a child of the privileged class. Darlian didn't have to coach him on how to maintain appearances. I didn't doubt that Duo would emerge in twenty minutes with a clean-shaven jaw, perfectly braided hair, and a pair of still-dry eyes. As little as twenty minutes from now, I wasn't going to have a place by his side anymore.

The very thought was unbearable.

Duo turned toward me and summoned a brave smile. "It's your job to recognize me when I come back out," he said. Before I could respond, he went into the bathroom to get changed.

It was a simple request, but it showed me the path I had to walk: I would stay with him no matter what; I would carry the memory of his goofy T-shirts and useless shoes with me; I would help him be real; I would not let him become lost in the world he was about to navigate.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind him and the latch caught, I turned to Thomas Darlian.

"What can I do for him?" I asked, bracing myself for the inevitable dismissal, readying myself to fight it with all my waning strength and untested cunning.

To my surprise, Darlian simply said, "Come downstairs. The hotel has a tailor. You'll need a suit."

It was a given that I didn't have one in my rucksack. I didn't even know my size, but that was the tailor's job, not mine. I was more startled by Darlian's easy acceptance of my presence. As we took the lift down to the lobby, he volunteered, "Dominic has few true friends."

That single statement was very telling.

"This puts you in a delicate situation," he continued. I met his sidelong glance and read a warning there. "In the coming weeks and months, Dominic will be given a great deal of power and influence over the company. Some might see his attachment to you as way to influence corporate policy."

I thought about that for a moment before saying very deliberately, "Lord Dominic Maxwell and I are friends but, in the coming weeks and months, his associates will surely find him easier to approach than me."

It suited me; I preferred to operate from the shadows.

Darlian smiled and nodded. "Excellent."

Just before the lift arrived on the ground floor, he offered, "Our firm represents the Maxwell family first and foremost. Unless Dominic himself wills it, no one will take his birthright from him in a corporate power play."

I reached out and pushed the Stop button. "Just so we're clear, his life is his own."

"Yes," Darlian answered. "And just so _we're _clear, you will let him decide his own future with your full support."

I nodded.

When Darlian reached forward and reengaged the lift, I didn't move to stop him. I considered the warning he'd issued as we crossed the lobby and headed for an alcove of elegant shops. Did Darlian really believe that I could change Duo's mind about his own future? A ball of hot indignation surged and rolled in my belly; I was offended on Duo's behalf. The man was seriously underestimating him.

I said nothing as Darlian announced our presence at the men's boutique, summoning a member of the staff. I let Darlian choose the color, style, and fabric of the suit and simply stood still for the fitting. But I wasn't idle; I was still thinking about Darlian, wondering about his true motivations and his perception of Duo: how well did he really know Duo? Did he suspect that Duo would follow his interests in Egyptology or was he sure that Duo's sense of duty would have him stepping into his father's shoes at the company? Darlian's own vow to not interfere with Duo's life was noticeably absent. How far would he go to ensure that Duo chose the path which profited Darlian most?

As I lifted my arm in compliance with the tailor's request, I glared at my reflection in the mirror; it was not _my _interference in Duo's life that was the issue here.

But the revelation changed nothing. I'd already decided to follow Duo, only now I could see how much he might need me with him. Darlian was well-versed in the art of subtle manipulations; I'd seen evidence of this already. Given that men like him would likely soon be surrounding Duo, he'd need a companion who didn't give rocks about corporations or profit margins, a companion who put Duo first and foremost.

I smiled grimly as I tried on the unfinished suit that was pressed into my hands; either Darlian had made a tactical mistake in alerting me to the kind of people Duo and I were about to encounter or he really was on Duo's side in all this and had just taught me my first lesson on navigating high society.

We were told that the suit alterations would be complete within the hour so Darlian ushered me across the small arcade to a barber's shop. I'd never been inside one before. All my life, the guys in the troupe had given each other haircuts whenever there was a need. From the age of about ten, I'd trimmed my bangs myself, keeping them long enough to conceal half of my face. It was harder for people to get a reading on me, to see me as a person. I understood this well now, but when I was a boy, all I'd cared about was the fact that it kept civilians from asking bothersome questions about what a child was doing with a troupe of mercenaries. And then, as I got older, it felt safe. The veil it provided seemed to help me contain all the volatile emotions that would get me killed if I allowed them to distract me.

"Here," Darlian said, pointing to a photograph of a man with a short cut very similar to his own. It was a style that exposed the entire face. "This one."

"No," I replied. I had no intention of allowing my camouflage to be removed. Now more than ever, I had to hide my true feelings for Duo from all the people who would gleefully try to use the knowledge for their own benefit. Besides, my love was Duo's and Duo's _alone._ I was not going to let anyone else see something so private in my expression.

Darlian gently explained, "Mr. Barton, this, er, emo style is quite striking, true, but you wouldn't want to give people the wrong idea."

Ah, so we'd arrived at lesson number two: condescension as a means of manipulation. Yes, I expected those larnies to talk down to me. They might be wary of me once they learned of my background, but there was nothing about me that would demand their respect.

"I'll handle this," I told him, turning away and ending the discussion. I didn't tell him to leave – that was up to him – but his counsel was not welcome here.

Again, a flash of satisfaction twinkled in his brown eyes. Having been raised by a man with a beard thicker than Darlian's, it was easy to detect the almost-smile. He retreated to the waiting area and pulled out his cell phone, perhaps to check in with the office.

With gestures, I conveyed to the barber how I wanted my hair trimmed. We hit a slight snag when the man fussed over my bangs. His English was very broken, but the gist of it seemed to be that he wanted to thin out the hair so I could see through it more easily. I tentatively agreed.

As it turned out, it was a good recommendation. By the time he was done with the front, I was enjoying a better visual range than I could ever remember having. My bangs were lighter, which meant that they'd be more prone to displacement due to the wind, but I'd take that concession in exchange for what I was gaining. It was still impossible for anyone to see _through_ my hair, but now I could see _them._ I relished the tactical advantage. The harder I was to read, the less inclined anyone would be to try to use me in their power games. Anyone who did so would be undeniably reckless.

Just as the barber moved to start on the back, my phone buzzed. I held up a hand to halt him as I pulled it from my pocket.

"Duo?" I asked quietly.

"Oh, thank God," he breathed. "Where are you?"

My heart twinged at the thread of urgency in his voice. "I'm not about to be forced onto an airplane out of the country," I replied.

"Good." I heard the satisfaction in his tone. "Because the Trowa I know wouldn't put up with that kinda shit."

I smiled and chose not to remind him that I probably wouldn't have gone anywhere without my rucksack which was still upstairs in the room. Instead, I answered his original question. "I'm downstairs getting a haircut."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

He chuckled. "Am I gonna recognize you when you get all done?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"I hate waiting."

"I've noticed."

"Look, Tro, my life's about to get crazy and I…"

"Don't worry about it. Darlian's been giving me lessons. It's all under control."

"Really? This I have to see."

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him, nesting a reassurance inside the invitation for him to get his arse down here and enjoy the show.

He was silent for a moment and I knew that he'd sussed out my meaning. Both of them. "You have a way of making offers a guy can't refuse," he finally said.

I shifted in the barber's chair as a hot tingle zipped through my entire body. God what that tone of voice did to me… "I'll see you soon," I promised.

"I'll see you sooner."

I rolled my eyes. "Goof," I accused.

He chuckled and hung up. I apologized to the barber and the man got back to work. With my chin tilted down to give him access to the back of my neck, I had the perfect opportunity to scheme a bit. On the phone, Duo had almost sounded like himself. I wasn't sure if it was due to the relief that I wasn't in the process of being invited out of his life or if he'd given himself a talking-to while in the bathroom. Or there was a third possibility: it was part of the mask. If it was, then eventually it was going to shatter.

Bugger all.

When the barber finally nudged my head up, I spotted Duo out of the corner of my eye. He was standing in the waiting area, leaning irreverently against a squat, polished bookcase and ignoring the array of colorful magazines laid out upon its surface. His arms were crossed and a crooked but wan grin was bending his lips. The instant I saw him, I forgot about his little game of who-sees-whom first.

Oh God, he was lekker. That suit had been made to mold to him from shoulders to hips. The double row of buttons down the front of it only emphasized his trim build. I gritted my teeth and admitted that black was definitely a good color for him. The pale grey dress shirt and matching lapel handkerchief highlighted the necktie which was just a shade lighter than his eyes and somehow drew my attention directly to his gaze.

I had to look away before I started sweating beneath the barbers cape. Only five more minutes of suffering was required of me and then the clippings were blow-dried away. I paid the barber and tipped him well for his patience when I'd answered Duo's call.

"Looks good," Duo approved when I joined him and Darlian at the front of the shop.

"Your suit isn't ready yet," Darlian remarked as I tried not to blush under Duo's appreciative stare, "but we need to pick out a few shirts and ties."

So that's what we did. As for shirts, I ended up with a white, a cream, and a dusty brown which I was partial to. It would help with camouflage. Three ties joined the pile on the sales counter: a khaki-and-brown stripe, a somber black with tiny grey dots, and a swirling pattern of tan, blue, and green which looked almost musical. The latter was Duo's choice and I couldn't bring myself to tell him to put it back. I'd never wear it; it was sure to draw attention.

Duo and I both added other essentials: undershirts, shorts, and socks. Last were the shoes. I insisted on ones with good tread and tried not to pay attention to the price. I thought of the roll of American dollars that Martins had given me and imagined the look on his face if I told him _this _was what I'd used it for.

"I've got this," Duo told me softly as the cost of the items was added up.

I drew a breath to object.

"You bought the knives," he reminded me so quietly that Darlian couldn't possibly overhear him. "It's my turn to get the battle gear."

He had a point. In the jungle or desert, when we were expecting to face combat, it made sense for me to handle the provisions and logistics. We were now heading into a situation just as volatile but in different ways so it required different preparations, preparations which Duo was familiar with.

"Thank you," I said.

He shifted next to me, brushing my hand in a gesture that could have been accidental. "We look after each other."

By the time the clerk was done ringing us up, my suit was finished. I went to get changed. Darlian handed me the off-white shirt and striped tie without a word and I took his suggestions. If I was going to be standing beside Duo when he gave his statement to the press, Darlian would know how to ensure that I was invisible enough.

I took a moment in the fitting room to remove the hunting knife sheath from the belt I'd bought in the market and tear the utility knife sheath off of the cheap leather. As I threaded the new belt through my trouser belt loops, I positioned the hunting knife against my back. The utility knife was tucked down the inside of my new, navy sock above my ankle. Good enough for now. I'd have to work on a harness for it later. If we were here that long.

I left the jacket unbuttoned to better hide the presence of the hunting knife and provide quick access to it. I didn't even attempt to knot the tie. Shoving my stockinged feet into my new shoes, I stepped out. Duo held open an empty plastic shopping bag and I dropped my old boots and clothes inside.

"I don't know how to tie it," I said when Duo's gaze snagged on the accessory that was hanging around my neck like a shed snakeskin.

Darlian took the plastic bag from Duo plus the others containing our purchases. "I'll have these sent up to the room," he offered and Duo stepped forward to show me what to do. I felt a small thrill as his nimble fingers tugged the knot out of his own necktie and then he turned me toward the shop mirrors. Shoulder to shoulder, he talked me through the procedure as we both stared at our reflections.

"There," Duo said, tucking the knot snuggly up into his own collar. I copied the motion. He gave my reflection a thorough evaluation. "I'd say you were a natural at this, but it's just not the sort of thing that comes naturally to anyone."

I took heart in that and glanced sideways at him. Suddenly, I noticed there was something different about him. "You didn't braid your hair," I observed.

"Oh, yeah. This was how my mom always did it when we had something formal to go to."

I dared to trail a fingertip over the plethora of brown bands which held his hair back in a series of cascading ponytails, gathering the tresses not-too-tightly into one bunch at the back of his neck. There were more bands in his hair below that, spaced every four inches or so, to keep his hair from getting in the way. Worn like this, it was a few inches longer than his braid.

Remarkable.

Masculine.

Sexy as hell.

"It's nice," I said, trying for a casual tone. I failed.

Duo looked at me and gave me a conspiratorial smile. "Now you know how I feel about that smile of yours, Tro."

The urge to kiss him was almost overwhelming, but just then Darlian returned and reality intruded. "They're waiting for us at the British embassy," he announced and we went out to the car he'd hired.

"What have you told them?" Duo asked as we pulled out of the hotel drive.

Darlian filled us in on the story they'd given the embassy:

Duo, having witnessed his father's abduction, had immediately called Marshall Noventa, who had then contacted the embassy and arranged for Darlian to fly to Laos as soon as possible. When no ransom demand had been issued, Duo had urged Noventa to have the temple, Wat Dong Sao, checked. Duo's father had proposed this trip because he'd believed the site to be valuable and it was possible that he might have been targeted for kidnapping because of what he'd hoped to find there.

And then the television networks entered the tale:

They had picked up on the story when the temple had been located and found to have collapsed very recently. Now, the entire world was following the recovery effort as people speculated whether the collapse could have anything to do with Lord Maxwell's disappearance. No one knew where the kidnappers were or if Lord Maxwell had actually made the trip out into the jungle and been inside the temple when the structure had fallen. At the moment, the man was still missing.

That was the story.

But both Duo and I knew the truth; we _knew_ it, but couldn't let on that we knew. Which meant that Duo wouldn't be allowed to grieve until his father's body had been publically found and identified. Suddenly, I understood his lack of reaction. He was saving it up, keeping it deep inside and waiting for the moment when he'd be permitted to let it go.

Oh God.

What was more, we could not let the whole truth be known. We couldn't mention Heero Yuy or the helicopter. That would invite all sorts of questions. Questions about why we'd gone there on a rescue mission ourselves when the police had already been informed of Lord Maxwell's abduction. While it seemed fairly obvious to us who the culprit had been and what his motivation was, we had no actual proof that Khushrenada had hired those men to abduct Duo's father and I doubted the police here would manage to find any evidence of it, either. A man like Khushrenada had not become so successful by making mistakes.

Amazingly, Duo had sussed all this out, had known to keep quiet and wait for the lawyers.

With Thomas Darlian sitting in the front seat and the driver's view restricted to the rear window behind our shoulders, I didn't hesitate to drop my hand to the bench seat between us in offering. A moment later, even though Duo was staring intently out the window on his side of the car, I felt his palm slide against mine and his fingers fit between my own. I held on.

I had to let go when we arrived, but I stayed close, watching the crowd as Darlian took point and led Duo over to the collection of microphones that had been set up. I stood back, trying not to tense at every flash and shutter click, and watched as Duo drew a deep breath.

"Thank you all for coming here today and bringing with you the support of the international community." There was no trace of his usual, casual American speech pattern or slang. He did not have his statement written out. There were no note cards or sheets of wrinkled notebook paper in his hands to which he referred. Dominic Maxwell spoke without those aids.

He continued, "Your prayers and well-wishes mean a lot to both my father, Victor Townsend Maxwell, and myself." He paused again and took another breath.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the Laotian authorities for their efforts to locate him. I'd also like to thank the British embassy for working on my father's behalf to bring him ho—me."

At this point, Duo glanced up at the sky and swallowed thickly. I ached for him, with him. _Oh God, Duo…_ His father was never coming home again. He knew it and I knew it, but admitting it would gain us nothing but questions we couldn't answer.

When he was composed again, he addressed the public's speculations: "I still haven't heard from my father. There have not been any ransom demands that I'm aware of since his abduction on Monday night. If anyone has any information on my father's whereabouts or the men who took him, I urge you to contact the authorities, either the Laotian police force, the British embassy, or Mr. Thomas Darlian—" Duo looked toward the man. "—our family attorney."

Duo stopped again. He shook his head slowly in defeat. "I'm sure you have questions, but I'm afraid there's nothing else I can tell you about the situation. If you'll excuse me, I'll speak with the embassy and ask if there's been any news."

As Duo took a step back, I stepped forward. I kept a professional distance between us and I saw the way the reporters discounted me as merely a member of the Maxwell family's staff or perhaps his bodyguard. Darlian took up position behind the microphones, reiterating Duo's speech: thanking the reporters for coming and promising to keep them updated. He also urged them to share any information they might have. "A man's life may depend on it," he summarized.

Duo turned his face away and I had to fist my hand to keep from pulling him into my arms. Later. I'd be able to hold him later. For now, all I could do was wish and will some of my meager strength into him.

Darlian retreated from the limelight and joined us at the embassy entrance. I knew I wouldn't be able to follow Duo inside – not with the knives I was carrying – but I intended to stay with him right up until the metal detectors blocked my path. A step behind us, I heard Darlian answer his cell phone. I hadn't heard it ring, but that only meant he'd set it to vibrate.

"Yes?" he prompted the caller. A moment later, he reached out a hand to Duo's shoulder. "Dominic, wait. You need to hear this." And then he handed the phone to Duo. There was nothing I could do for him as he was informed that his father's body had been found. We were out in the open with reporters looking on and cameras trained on us. Yesterday, I wouldn't have cared; I would have pulled Duo into my arms and to hell with anyone watching. But from this moment onward, Duo was _Lord_ Dominic Maxwell and, because of that, I had to stand here and watch his fingers tighten around the phone; I had to watch him fight against his tears; I had to watch and do _nothing._

"I'm taking him back to the car," I told Darlian. When Duo lowered the phone from his ear, I passed it back to its owner and nodded to the still-gathered crowd. "Will you handle this?"

"Yes, of course," he replied thickly, clearly affected, and I wondered if he'd still been holding out hope that I'd exaggerated the seriousness of the situation to Noventa. Well, it wasn't anything to do with me if he had. I placed a professional hand on Duo's shoulder and, angling myself between him and the public as best I could, I led him over to the car. I nudged him into the backseat, ordered the driver back to the hotel, and held onto Duo's hand during the journey. Upon our arrival, I steered Duo away from the main doors and took him upstairs via a side entrance that I'd noticed earlier.

The opulence of the room Darlian had chosen and the expense of our clothing was all so much nonsense now. The moment the door shut behind us, I drew him to me, thankful to finally be able to do so and resentful that I'd had to wait so long in the first place.

He shuddered, gasping for breath. Perhaps he was trying to catch the very same one that he'd been holding onto so tightly all throughout the ride back. His hands gripped my shoulders from behind with bruising force, but he did not weep. Perhaps that was one more thing I did on his behalf; I nuzzled against his hair as my own eyes burned and overflowed. His ear caught several of my tears.

"I'm so sorry," he rasped suddenly.

"What?"

"I didn't give you a choice."

"A choice?" He wasn't making any sense. If he'd actually convinced himself that he'd hauled me to Laos unwillingly—

"If I'd just gotten on a Goddamn plane or gone to the embassy like you'd told me to…"

I nearly gasped – my understanding was so sharp and sudden. Duo had forgiven me for failing him and his father, but he had not forgiven himself.

I pulled back and tilted his chin up so I could study his reddened-but-still-dry eyes. I'd seen a lot of miserable things in my lifetime and I'd seen a lot of misery. I'd even caused some of it. But, somehow, it felt like I was seeing soul-deep pain for the first time.

"Duo, you loved him. I knew you couldn't leave." Any more than I could have left _Duo_ behind.

"I wasn't qualified to try an' save him. I should have—"

Yes, if the situation had been typical, then professionals – people who were capable and impartial and efficient – would have been the better choice. But the situation had _not _been typical at all.

"What would Khushrenada have done if he'd been caught in the act by the authorities?" I asked him. "You know what powerful men are like, how far they'll go to ensure more power. Do you honestly think your father would've had any chance at all if we'd approached the situation by conventional means?"

Duo's father had appeared to have been tortured and he could have named Khushrenada as the man behind his abduction. He could have provided a motive backed by circumstantial evidence. If Khushrenada had been cornered thusly, would he have not only ruined Lord Maxwell's life but Duo's as well?

As things stood now, there was only a single motive for why Khushrenada would have ordered Lord Maxwell's abduction and it sounded positively befok. Without physical evidence or a money trail or credible witnesses, no one would believe that Khushrenada had participated in Lord Maxwell's kidnapping. Khushrenada was safe from discovery which meant that Duo was safe from his retribution, but that didn't mean he was safe from the man's scheming. Khushrenada hadn't gotten his hands on the artifact he was seeking and Chang had seen the message on the wall: Duo's name written in hieroglyphs. The arrow now pointed to _him._

Some of my fear must have made it into my expression because Duo shook me slightly. "What?"

"You have to watch your back," I whispered. "Chang knows about the message from your mother. Khushrenada will try to get to you." Especially if he were told about the iPod that had been left behind in the artifact's place. I hoped we could trust Yuy not to betray that discovery, but it would be more prudent to assume otherwise.

Duo nodded. "I know."

How could he be so bloody calm about this? "Can you trust Darlian and Noventa and all the other people in their firm?" Any one of them could be a saboteur.

Dropping his voice to a whisper, Duo said, "I trust _you."_

I let out a long breath as the weight of his trust settled upon my shoulders and dug into my heart. "It's not June yet…" I began.

"I'll have Noventa work out a December clause or something." He shifted, stepping back and looking suddenly uncertain. "I mean, if you still wanna come to the States with me. I wouldn't blame you if you said to hell with this shit and just—"

I kissed him. It was rough and I demanded entrance to his mouth. He grasped my arms, but he didn't push me away. He pulled himself closer. Tearing my lips away from his warmth and taste, I growled, "If I have a choice, I will always choose you. Always."

He shivered. I felt it through the layers of fabric.

"It's not fair that I need you this much," he replied.

"What makes you think I need you any less?"

He shook his head. "No, I mean it's not fair to _you."_

A flash of anger exploded through me. "My life was pointless before we met."

"That doesn't give me the right to pull you into this freak show."

I sighed out my irritation. I framed his face in my hands. "I only see you. No freaks, just you."

"But they'll see _you,"_ he warned. He looked tired, wary, determined. He looked older than his eighteen years. "You'll need a helluvalot more than a new suit and a haircut."

"This is your jungle," I replied slowly and deliberately. "I know you'll handle the provisions."

He let out a breath and smiled. "What did I ever do to earn your trust?" The question came out in a wondering tone, as if he couldn't quite believe his own good fortune.

I leaned forward until our foreheads touched. "You gave me yours," I answered simply.

"That's all?" he squeaked incredulously.

I nodded.

"Damn. I had no idea I was so devious."

I chuckled. And although I hadn't known him well, I suspected that somewhere in that Great Beyond Duo's father was equally amused.

Just then, when I would have kissed him again, my stomach growled and I winced guiltily.

"I'll order us up something," he offered, glancing toward the phone and the room service menu beside it.

"The coffee's probably better in the restaurant downstairs," I argued gently, wondering if he was up for that. The lines of stress and grief had momentarily retreated from his face, but I didn't for one moment think they were gone completely. I probably wasn't doing him any favors by offering a distraction from his pain, but I couldn't bring myself to encourage him to sit around in this room with the memories of his helplessness.

"You buyin'?" he teased.

"Ja."

It was almost a date, but I was glad it wasn't. This was another first that I did not want to mar with misery and regret. I ordered whatever Duo got and stared down anyone who looked at him a half second too long.

"Ease up or they're gonna think you really are my goon," Duo muttered through a mysterious little grin which he promptly hid behind his glass.

"That's my dream job," I retorted and offered him my serviette when he choked on his water. He hacked and muttered into the linen, his eyes watering. Somehow I knew when the moisture turned into actual tears.

Bugger.

"Don't make me tell you another one," I threatened despite the fact that I had nil to back it up with.

He sobbed out a breathy chuckle. "You look like the kinda guy who'd have an arsenal."

I choked on a bubble of dark humor but could think of nothing else to say.

He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. "This is embarrassing," he grumbled into the serviette.

"You're welcome to use my shoulder instead," I informed him quietly, "but you might have to sacrifice drool territory to boogey invasion."

He laughed. "Damn it, knock it off, Tro," he commanded unevenly. I stayed silent as he worked on getting his emotions back under control. When he tried to sniffle the snot back up into his head, I scraped my chair legs across the floor in an attempt to camouflage the sound.

He lowered the serviette but didn't look me in the eye. "Planning your escape?"

The teasing came out so flat I could have laid out spent shell casings lengthwise on it and trusted them not to roll off. "Preventing yours."

"Ah. So that's why you got the shoes with tread." This was said as he folded up the linen and set it off to the side of his place setting. Had I been faced with the same problem, I probably would have balled it up and stuffed it under an overturned coffee cup.

"The plot is exposed."

His fingers twitched toward the serviette he'd just set aside. He nearly groaned, "You did not just give me that opening. No, definitely not."

I was certain I had, but I supposed now was not the time or place for him to do anything about it. I couldn't stop myself from stringing the words together –_ exposed, opening, give_ – in a sequence that unlocked the memory of Duo's hand sliding down the front of my unfastened pants. I was helpless to resist the tide of arousal that slammed through me from the base of my spine all the way up to my scalp in a tingling rush. Bugger and fuck. I thought about asking for my serviette back as I shifted awkwardly in my chair.

Duo wordlessly passed me one of the still-unused serviettes at our table-for-four. The gesture spoke volumes. It told me that Duo was thinking the same thing I was. If he'd met my gaze just then, I don't know what I would have done. As it was, I was struggling not to growl, not to toss the table aside and take him down to the floor right here. Fuck. What did he do to me?

I glared at him as he stared out the window beside our table, his lashes still clumped with dampness, his jaw clenched, the weariness seeping back into his features with every passing moment. Seeing that, I let go of the sudden, choking aggression.

Sighing, I scanned the restaurant again. No one seated at any of the tables was looking at us, but the same could not be said for the man stepping into the restaurant from the hotel lobby. "Darlian's here," I said.

"Wave him over," Duo requested quietly, keeping both elbows braced on the table. He was still wearing his suit but this was a posture for T-shirts, denims, and canvas takkies.

I complied and let him have another moment to gather his composure. Darlian nodded in acceptance of the invitation and approached our table with confidence that had a server following in his wake, a menu and a decanter of mineral water in each hand. He sat at the place setting with the last available serviette, plucking the artfully folded white linen off of the china plate before either Duo or I could lay claim to it.

It would have been funny at any other time. I might have nudged Duo's shoe with the toe of mine underneath the table and shared the joke. I would have grinned. He would have chuckled. I bit back a sigh. So much loss, past and present.

Darlian didn't talk about the recovery of Lord Maxwell's body. I suspected he had been updated, but I was relieved that he didn't give Duo a report on it here.

"Thomas, how's your daughter?" Duo asked suddenly, still keeping his drying eyes downcast. It was at least two hours before sunset and, in this lighting, it was easy to see that he'd been crying. "Has she made partner yet?"

Darlian smiled with sympathy and graciously replied, no doubt recognizing the conversational detour for what it was, "Not quite yet, but you know how driven Relena is. It's only a matter of time."

Duo had gone to London with his father several times since I'd met him, but he'd always glossed over the details. I'd assumed he'd gone to England to visit family. But no, it seemed that those trips had been mainly for business. Although it wasn't said, I gathered from the flow of the unfolding conversation that Duo had accompanied his father in order to observe the workings of the company and to meet with Darlian. The easy way they spoke of London and acquaintances there told me just how far into the loop Duo's father had led him.

The revelation was both welcome and not. Welcome because Duo already knew who our potential allies and adversaries were. Unwelcome because Duo was that much closer to being trapped in a life of corporate minutiae.

Which prompted me to ask quietly, certain that my question was as doff as they come, "What _is_ your family's business?"

Darlian was surprised enough to pause as he lifted his teacup to his lips. Duo continued slowly spinning his untouched coffee around and around in its saucer. "Haven't Goggled me yet?" he teased.

I tilted my head to the side in acknowledgement of the point. "Not yet."

Darlian seemed suddenly interested in the contents of his cup. He was calculating, reevaluating. He'd assumed something about me in error. I was curious as to what it was, but not curious enough to take my eyes off of Duo and ask.

"We're gonna have to get around to that Internet tutorial real soon," he observed ruefully. "You're missing out on Twitter, man, and that's just not right."

A soft chuckle escaped through my helpless grin.

Duo smirked back and then shoved his cup and saucer aside, clearing the table and slipping into a mode I hadn't seen since Egypt: Duo was going to educate me. Never one to make me ask twice for information or willfully conceal it from me, he explained, "Back when my great-great grandfather started it up, Maxwell Limited focused on engineering and manufacturing precision scientific equipment. Over the generations, as science expanded, so did the company. Optics, lasers, prosthetics, medical equipment… Hell, half the stuff in CERN's Large Hadron Collider was designed and manufactured by the company."

"CERN?" _Large Had—what?_

Again, Duo jumped in before Darlian could sputter in shock at my ignorance. "It's Europe's nuclear research organization. A coupla years ago, they built the world's largest physics experiment: the Large Hadron Collider. It's this twenty-seven-kilometer-long underground track thing where they smash atoms and stuff together and see what kind of bang they get."

"For what purpose?" I pressed, momentarily distracted from my original question.

"Well, it has something to do with trying to understand the stuff that makes up the universe. There's no practical application yet, but when there is I'm pretty sure Maxwell Limited will be expanding in that sector, too." Duo shrugged. "Science isn't really my thing."

"As well," I readily admitted, but the work his company did sounded important… and profitable. It also sounded like it was at the forefront of new technologies. It sounded like it was going to require a lot of time and effort from its leaders for the company to keep up in the global marketplace. Time and effort that Duo would be expected to give. This was not a comforting development.

"This nuclear research of CERN's," I began hesitantly, my thoughts turning to our foremost enemy, "is it for weapons?"

"Pure research only," Darlian assured me.

I kept my eyes on Duo. He glanced at Darlian and then shrugged. "Einstein didn't set out to build a bomb. You never know where research is gonna lead."

The way he said it made it sound like we'd be better off without it, but that would be like screaming up at the sky until the sun stopped shining. There would be no stopping progress, not until we destroyed ourselves.

Dinner tasted like ash in my mouth and the coffee burned my stomach as if I were drinking pure acid. It was a relief to pay the bloody bill and go back upstairs.

"I'm next door," Darlian said, nodding to the room down the hall.

Duo nodded. "See ya in the morning."

Darlian watched me as Duo fumbled with the key card. Even if I hadn't given Noventa my word that I'd keep Duo safe, Darlian's stare wouldn't have kept from Duo's side, day or night.

"C'mon, Tro. Those new shoes have gotta be killing your feet."

I followed Duo into the suite of rooms.

"Let's get the tub goin'," he suggested, disappearing into the bathroom without bothering to take his shoes off first.

I engaged the safety bolt on the door behind me and aimed for the nearest bed. Duo was right: my feet were raw in places, possibly blistered. Sitting down in the restaurant for an hour had only left them sensitized to the slightest pressure.

"Oi!" Duo called.

"What?"

"Are we gonna do this or not?"

I blinked. "Do what exactly?" What did Duo think he and I were going to do in a bathtub together?

A plethora of ideas answered that seemingly innocent inquiry. I had to grit my teeth and fist my hands. It took a solid minute and no less than three deep breaths before I could open my eyes and actually see my surroundings rather than pale, bare skin and long, loosened hair.

There was a clatter as one shoe and then the other was tossed out of the bathroom doorway, rolling into the open cupboard across the narrow foyer. "Get in here, man. You need this. Trust me."

Oh God. He had _no _idea.

As if in a daze, I stood and crossed the room back to the open doorway. Looking in, however…

I burst out laughing.

Duo was perched on the edge of the tub in his jacket, shirt, tie, and bloody lapel handkerchief. The only articles of clothing he'd shed were the socks which were lying on the tile floor like a pair of deflated animal balloons. His bound hair dangled down his back and his trouser legs were rolled up past his knees. Water gushed from the faucet into the basin where his feet were being massaged by the jets.

He patted the ledge beside him. "What were you expecting?" he teased.

I bit my lip and gave his pale legs a pointed glance. "More of a tan."

"I put the 'white' in 'white boy'." He said it as if it were a source of pride.

I rolled my eyes and braced myself in the doorway as I pried my sore and sweaty feet out of my shoes. I tossed the utility knife onto the bathroom counter. My too-thin and uselessly non-absorbent men's socks joined his on the floor. After a few turns of the hem of my trouser legs, I was splashing my feet into the tub beside his.

I groaned.

"Told ya."

Oh God yes, he had. It wasn't quite as good as what I'd originally imagined he'd intended to do in here, but it was every bit as visceral. The water was hot and frothing and as soon as it was foaming around our calves, Duo shut off the tap.

"I guess first class isn't all bad," he mused suddenly, forcing another bark of laughter out of me.

"Except for those bloody scented hot towels."

He guffawed. "No shit, right? I mean, who the hell wants their face to smell like lemon and shit?"

"Shit might be preferable to lavender."

He chuckled. "Depends on the shit, I think. Now, pig shit?" He shook his head. "I'll take lavender every time."

We stretched our feet out in the massaging water currents and I compared my own darker skin and leg hair to his. I had to curl my fingers around the edge of the tub to keep from investigating the trail of droplets leading up to the pale knee which was closest.

I could only sit there and do nothing for about ten minutes. Duo's presence beside me was too magnetic. When he started pulling the bands out of his hair, I made myself get out of the tub and dry off. My new suit was hanging up in the cupboard and I'd already changed into my sleep pants and a long sleeved T-shirt when Duo decided he'd had enough foot therapy.

"We need to do laundry," he observed as he stared into his rucksack, wrinkling his nose with revulsion.

"We'll take care of it in the morning." There had to be a facility for that in this bloody place. Unless it was far too practical an amenity to be welcome in a hotel of this caliber. I sat down on one of the two beds in the room and looked everywhere but at Duo as he got changed and tossed his suit over the back of the nearest chair with a soft, "Fuck it." I was reaching back to dig my pillow out from under the quilt when Duo's weight joined mine on the mattress.

I turned toward him and waited for him to speak.

"Is this OK?" he eventually asked, clasping his hands between his bare knees. He was wearing those doff plaid shorts that looked about four sizes too big for him and the Grouch T-shirt was enjoying an encore performance. "It's gonna screw with my head if I wake up alone."

When I didn't say anything, he continued, "My first thought's probably gonna be 'oh, hotel bed' which'll make me remember that I'm on vacation and then I'll roll over expecting to see—" He paused and glanced at the second, untouched bed. "But he won't be there. It's just easier if I… I mean, you're the only person I've ever spent the night with. Well, since Solo and I were kids, but that camping trip was a disaster anyway and—"

I reached out and touched his shoulder. "Duo."

"Yeah?"

"Let's go to sleep."

He blew out a long breath. "OK."

When Duo moved to settle into the bed I'd claimed, I stepped over to the second and pulled the quilt and sheet loose. I mussed the pillow. Before Duo could ask, I returned to the bed I'd initially chosen and slid in beside him. I rolled toward him without a word and put an arm around his waist even as I tucked the sheathed hunting knife beneath my pillow.

"You've thought of everything, huh?" Duo observed, noting the evidence I'd just manufactured across the room. It didn't take much of an effort to make a bed looked slept-in.

I snuggled down against him, careful not to put my weight on his rebraided hair. After a bit of wiggling I managed to angle my nose so that I was breathing in his warmth and scent, my lips nearly touching the pulse that trembled beneath the skin of his throat. "Hm," I agreed absently, wondering if I should apologize in advance for my morning wood.

He chuckled. "You sleep with other people often?"

"Nuh-uh," I grunted, basking in the heat that was seeping into me from his body.

"You're a natural."

"Sleeping's natural," I mumbled.

"Yeah." His chuckle was the last thing I heard.

The next morning, I woke before he did and grimaced at the wet patch on the fabric over my shoulder. Duo drool. Or tears. Looking at his face, it was hard to tell which. He was dead to the world, not even twitching when I carefully extracted myself from his side. Once things in my shorts calmed down enough to allow it, I took care of my full bladder then got on with the business of doing laundry. I put on my suit again and went to reconnoiter the hotel. I was not pleased to discover that the only way to get clean clothing was by using a laundry _service._ Did all larny hotels like this insist on humiliating their customers?

Regardless of the humiliation, it had to be done, so I followed the front desk clerk's instructions and separated Duo's clothes and mine into the designated plastic laundry bags and left them for whoever to do whatever with. Hopefully, they'd be wearing gloves when they did it.

There wasn't much to be done other than that. I connected our cell phones to their chargers, flipped through the room service menu, and plotted how I was going to dispose of the knives I'd bought when it came time to head for the airport. Eventually, there was nothing else to do except go back to bed. I draped my suit pants and dress shirt over the other bed and laid down next to Duo in my underpants and undershirt.

God, he was so warm. I'd never realized how warm people were, or how arms were meant to curve over someone else's chest, how hips could fit together like spoon-in-spoon.

"Hm… Tro?"

I smiled and nodded against his messy braid. "It's early yet."

He relaxed back against me and I felt his hand grasp mine, tugging it up to the center of his chest and locking me in place around him. I couldn't have moved even if I'd wanted to. And I most definitely did not want to.

My brows twitched into a frown at that thought. Darlian didn't seem to be in any hurry to dislodge me from Duo's side, nor did Noventa, but I couldn't count on everyone to be so complacent. I was lying in bed with Lord Dominic Maxwell, heir to a massively profitable, international corporation. There could be any number of people who wouldn't want me here for any number of reasons: I was a man; I was a mercenary; I was unschooled; I was an outsider; I was unable to match Duo in wealth or social standing.

I was also ignorant.

I inched closer to Duo as a thrill of fear shot through me. I knew how to cut down an enemy who threatened my life, who threatened the lives of the men in my troupe, who threatened the lives and property of our clients. I knew how to kill, how to maim, how to disable and disorient. I knew how to use my hands and their manmade extensions – guns and knives, garrotes and clubs – to defend and protect. I knew how to intimidate and threaten.

I did not know how to fight with kind words, with legal maneuvers, with smiles and handshakes. A nebulous fear settled deep within me: could these people separate us? Could they use guile and turn Duo against me? Was there anything I could do to make sure that didn't happen? Was there any way I could guarantee that Duo would continue to trust me no matter how sophisticated a trap they set?

Beside me, Duo stirred and I had to close my eyes. I took all my uncertainty and buried it. Until I knew what to do, I'd do the only thing I could do: I'd keep trusting him and keep hoping that it earned me his trust in return.

* * *

NOTES:

The name "Thomas Darlian" is from Clara Barton's "A Life Less Normal". He looks like a Thomas to me, so I pinched it. The name "Marshall Noventa" comes from the character's official military title in the original series: Field Marshal Noventa. I know: it's _soooo_ creative.

Also, the Maxwells were an actual titled family (i.e., lords) in Scotland. Their stronghold was Caerlaverock Castle which is in ruins now but EPIC. Google or Wiki it. You'll see what I mean. Also, the Clan Maxwell coat of arms is so awesome. Look that up, too, while you're surfing the 'Net.

* * *

South African English Terms:

Serviette = napkin


	6. Appearances, Part 2

**Warnings:** language, shounen ai/yaoi (reference to male/male sexytiems), reference to character death, angst (duh)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

**Notes: **Several readers have noticed and remarked on Trowa's ability to be emotionally affected by the things that happen to Duo (and therefore to Trowa indirectly) and I'd just like to say a thing or two about "my" Trowa: he's a mercenary; that doesn't mean he's heartless or has severed himself from his emotions. In my version of him, he understands that emotions are things you can't control, but they have to be dealt with otherwise they'll present more problems further down the road. So, when he's sad or overwhelmed, he cries and just gets it all out so that he can pick himself up and get on with business. Duo, while very dynamic and less self-controlled than Trowa, is the exact opposite; he only recognizes the emotions that he judges to be acceptable and, at this point in the story, he is convinced that grief is not OK. He is holding it all in and it will come out. In a big way. Actually, Duo's grief will drive the story to its conclusion, so we have not yet even begun to see him deal with his father's death.

* * *

Recommended music for _Appearances - Part 2_ - "Angel with a Shotgun" by The Cab

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If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate parts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Appearances - Part 2: Lagos & London"

* * *

**Appearances – Part 2** (Trowa POV... still)

Darlian and Noventa handled all the arrangements. Duo had only had to answer one question: "Where would you like your father to be buried?"

"Next to my mom," he'd said and then Darlian had gotten on his cell phone to sort it out.

Duo had declined to speak to the press again although that hadn't stopped representatives from several networks from leaving messages with the hotel staff for him. Darlian warned us against leaving the hotel premises as there was always at least one camera crew camped out on the main street, waiting on the off-chance we'd emerge and give them an opening for their scoop of misery. I could see them from our window. It was just as well I hadn't had a gun.

I made it a point to keep the hotel suite curtains closed.

"Afraid someone's gonna see me do this?" Duo teased, leaning in and blowing softly in my ear. I jerked and the curtain rippled in my grasp. My breath caught. Since Darlian's arrival, I'd been clinging to my composure and control with every ounce of strength I possessed. This very early morning, after nearly two continuous days of torment, I snapped.

"No," I retorted, "but I am afraid someone's going to interrupt me when I do _this!"_

With a twist, a shove, and a hand clamped over Duo's mouth to keep his squeak of surprise from echoing in the room, I had him on his back on the bouncing mattress. I straddled him, grinning victoriously.

Duo's hands gripped my forearms but not to push me away. He was holding on. Nudging his chin out from under my palm, he grinned back. "Interrupt _what?"_ he challenged, his eyes flashing with fire.

It had been like this with him over the last few days: soul-crushing grief one moment, heart-stopping boyish charm the next. Combine that with his mesmerizingly somber lectures and unpredictably irreverent humor and was it any wonder I was feeling increasingly confused? I wasn't sure what he wanted from me. Perhaps he didn't even know. Well, I hoped that when he sussed it out, he'd tell me. Until then, I wasn't planning on going any further from him than absolutely necessary.

But now, _now_ I had him under me and he was urging me on. Oh God, _yes._

I didn't answer his taunt with words. I framed his face in my hands and leaned down to press my lips to his. He breathed out an encouraging sound, shifting up against me as his fingers dug into the fabric of my suit sleeves. We were due down in the lobby. Darlian was probably waiting for us, eager to get us both to the airport, but we had a moment. We _needed _a moment. And I was taking it.

He squirmed more forcefully and I backed off every time he opened his mouth to me. I thirsted for a deeper taste, but something in me was driven to tease him like he'd been teasing me – knowingly or unknowingly – over the last forty-some-odd hours. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"Trowa," he objected softly. "You're killing me here."

"Then do something about it," I dared him.

He was fast. I hadn't realized that about him. He was also stronger than I expected. He sat up and, with a hand on the back of my head and another hooked behind one of my knees, he brought our hips together and mouths in contact. I groaned as he kissed me hungrily, as if he feared he'd never see me again after today. I kissed him back, sharing that fear. The world was waiting for him and I was still unsure of my place at his side. That uncertainty warred with my determination to _make_ a place for myself and I could feel the battle wearing me down from within.

Long moments later, he leaned back and brushed his thumb over my cheek, to and fro. "It's gonna drive me insane wondering where you are, if you're really gonna be meeting me in London, if some moron somewhere screwed something up and you can't get past immigration, if… if—"

I spoke only when his throat closed up on its own. "Both Darlian and Noventa have assured me that all I have to do is visit the embassies in Lagos to get my journeyman's visas. I'll go there directly from the airport."

"But I won't be there with you to – I dunno – be the scary boyfriend and glare all those pencil pushers into submission."

"Boyfriend?" I echoed, feeling a wide smile stretch my lips. He'd hinted at this once before but only once. After everything that had happened, I'd begun to wonder if he'd chosen to forget that he'd ever mentioned we were "going steady."

His hand moved up my thigh to my waist. "Yeah. If you're OK with that." He grinned up at me, his eyes sparkling through his lashes. "And, I'll go out on a limb here and guess that you are?"

I speared my splayed fingers gently into his neatly braided hair. "Ja," I agreed. "I have been. Just gone three years. It's about time you noticed, my china." I leaned in and nibbled on his lower lip. "My maat." I kissed the underside of his chin. "My kerel." I rubbed against him from hip to collarbone as I traced his ear with my lips.

"Whoa, not just one but _three_ pet names. That sounds like a lotta pressure," he rasped, his breathless voice doing things to me that I didn't want to ignore but knew we didn't have time to enjoy. "They don't all mean 'boyfriend,' do they?"

"Friend, partner, boyfriend," I replied, shivering as his hand now pressed its way up my back under my suit jacket. "Choose one or all; I'm here for you no matter what."

He swallowed. I could hear it. I wanted to kiss him again, but I waited, watching his expression soften. My pulse raced. My chest ached. For a moment, it looked like he was going to show his hand, reach for me, choose me completely…

And then there came an impatient knocking on the door.

Bugger. Darlian had come up to fetch us.

Gritting my teeth in frustrated defeat, I moved to climb off of Duo's lap.

"No, he can wait thirty damn seconds," Duo ground out, holding me in place. "Trowa…" He spent two of those seconds struggling for words. "If people found out how I feel about you—" He bit his lip. "Damn it, it's complicated now."

True, but it didn't have to be complicated for _us._ "Duo, answer two questions for me. Yes or no."

"OK."

I took a steadying breath. "Do you want me for a lover?" Somehow I managed not to tremble in his grasp.

He answered with the same humbling honesty that had drawn me to him from the moment of our first meeting, like a thief to easy plunder. "Yes."

Oh God. I had to close my eyes for a moment before I posed the second. "Do you doubt me or my loyalty to you?"

"No."

The relief was so exquisite it was nearly painful. Whether this was the time for it or not, I had to offer my confession. I wanted no secrets from him, especially now when there was so much at stake, when even the smallest wrinkle in our friendship could be sniffed out and manipulated.

"I am in love with you," I informed him and the words seemed to shock him. They shouldn't have. Some failure in communication was clearly to blame. I was unsure whose fault that was, but now was not the time to investigate it. I asked instead, "Are you going to give me a chance?"

He offered up a wobbly smile. "That's question number three."

Indeed it was. "I don't need an answer now," I replied, "I just need you to think about it."

_Bang—bang—bang!_ "Lord Maxwell!" Darlian called without shouting. "We need to leave!"

Still Duo didn't let me up. "If you're not in London within forty-eight hours, I'm coming to get you and God help anyone who tries to stop me." Something dark and furious flickered in his eyes but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. I wondered if I'd imagined it.

"Copy that," I replied and kissed him one last time. I felt him giggle against my mouth. Ja, I was using his doff military-speak now. His laughter told me he'd gotten the joke and the tightening of his arms around me told me he'd realized the significance.

I tasted him deeply and groaned when he tasted me in return.

_"Lord Maxwell!"_

Reluctantly, I pulled away. Duo let me go this time, but I couldn't stop touching him just yet. I reached for his hands and pulled him to his feet. He walked us to the entryway and opened the door. Duo's lawyer frowned impatiently at us. Darlian had to know what we'd been doing in here, especially since Duo's eyes were dry and his lips slightly swollen. I was hard. Duo was hard. There was no point in hiding it. So, I boldly tucked a couple of wayward strands of hair back into his braid. It was a futile gesture, but it made him smile a genuine, happy smile.

"I'll hold the door," he offered, reaching for the large suitcase that had been collected from the hotel he and his father had initially checked into upon arrival. I wordlessly picked up Duo's backpack and adjusted the expandable handle of the small roller bag I'd bought for myself downstairs. My rucksack, clean clothes, and other belongings had already been packed neatly inside. The contents of the case might not be those of the average first class passenger but, as Duo had said when he'd helped me pick it out, it was the appearances aspect of the thing that was most important.

Appearances. Ja, I was going to have to readjust my priorities in order to accommodate that concept. Not that appearances weren't important to mercenaries – they were: the art of intimidation wins many a contract and deters many a confrontation – but things were simpler in that arena: the enemies were easy to identify and the countermeasures we implemented were swift and decisive. The same could not be said for the world of high society or international business.

Duo held the door open for me and we left the suite behind. Darlian sent several sidelong glances in my direction as we took the lift down to the lobby. I hadn't had much contact with him since dinner the day before and maybe I was imagining the suspicions I sensed in him – maybe he was an ally who simply had questions – but he was a civilian and I didn't expect him to understand someone like me. Normally, I wouldn't care, but Duo was going to be relying on this man exclusively over the next two days, perhaps longer if things went badly in Lagos. Darlian would have the opportunity to ask Duo about me, to imply that he should be wary of me.

I had no doubts whatsoever that Duo wouldn't listen. What concerned me more was that Darlian would anger him and cause Duo to push the man away, isolating himself. Would Khushrenada take the opening to approach Duo while he was vulnerable? I didn't know and I didn't want to find out. So, Duo needed to trust Darlian which, in turn, meant that Darlian needed to keep his mouth shut about me. I decided that the best way to send that message would be indirectly.

Handing Duo his backpack, I said, "Check to make sure you have everything you need in there."

He frowned at me. I was well aware that he'd packed the thing himself the night before, but I wanted Darlian to know that I suspected his misgivings about me. I was urging Duo to vet me in his presence, to check that I hadn't tampered with the contents of his bag. Duo's gaze flickered briefly in his lawyer's direction. I knew the moment he understood; his chin jutted forward as he fought against a scowl. He nodded. "I'll do it in the car." So that Darlian would be sure to see for himself that I hadn't betrayed Duo's trust. He'd also see for himself that Duo was no fool.

We arrived just in time for our small jet to Bangkok. It was fully as stomach-lurching as the arriving flight had been. Amazingly, Duo didn't seem the least bit affected by it. Darlian leaned his head back against his seat and closed his eyes. Perhaps so he could better imagine himself in Australia, riding the rolling surf on one of those boogie board things.

It wasn't until we'd checked in for our connecting flights at Bangkok airport, had once again gone through security, and had made it to my boarding gate that I spoke to Duo's lawyer. I held out my hand. "Thank you, Mr. Darlian, for all your efforts on my behalf. I appreciate your assistance more than I can say."

It was remarkable what the right words could do. The man softened before my eyes and clasped my hand warmly. "Having you join us in London will be its own reward, Mr. Barton."

It seemed doff to thank the man a second time, so I proposed, "Can I buy you a cup of tea before your flight?"

"That sounds grand."

"Coffee?" I aimed the question at Duo, inviting him to join us.

He pulled a face. "Have you _had_ airport coffee? Eugh. Cappuccino. With _lots _of sugar."

Darlian groaned. I grinned. Ja, the flight from Bangkok to London (with a stopover in Copenhagen) was bound to be fun with a caffeinated and well-sugared Duo sitting within flailing distance.

We located an overpriced café with small, spaciously arranged tables within visual range of my gate. My flight to Ethiopia wouldn't be taking off for just over an hour, so we claimed a table.

When Darlian manfully bit back a grimace at the taste of his tea, I said, "The next one I buy for you will be better."

He chuckled and raised his paper cup to that.

We spent the next half hour talking about anything and everything except Duo's father and the funeral service that would be held in England. Conversation was halting and awkward, but I wasn't the least bit relieved when the airline staff announced pre-boarding for my flight.

"I'll walk you over," Duo offered. Darlian wished me well and then pulled out his phone to check his messages… or perhaps look up that Twitter or Facebook thing that Duo had mentioned. In any event, he gave us a moment to say our goodbyes and I appreciated it.

Unfortunately, I was also speechless. Duo was equally silent beside me. He clutched the strap of his well-made, leather backpack. It wasn't conspicuous here among other travelers who flaunted their creature comforts, but his knuckles were white. He looked up. Our gazes met. He took a deep breath. I tried not to tense in anticipation—

"Trowa!"

I startled, looking up and staring uncomprehending at the young man jogging toward us. I'd never seen him before. How could he possibly know _me?_ But no, he wasn't looking at me. His sunny smile was focused on Duo.

And Duo recognized him. "Hey, Q! Dude, what're the odds?"

The young man came to a graceful halt in front of us. The sunlight streaming in through the nearby windows reflected off of his blond hair with eye-watering brilliance. "We missed you at the café for lunch!" he exclaimed.

"Er, yeah, about that," Duo began awkwardly. "Uh, wow. Where to start? First off, uh, _he's _Trowa, actually." Duo turned to me and gave me an apologetic smile. "I used your name that night in Vientiane."

A wise precaution. I nodded.

"And this is Quentin. Er, Q. I went out to a club with him and some of his pals from school before you arrived in town."

Ah, now it was all starting to make sense.

Before "Q" had to ask him for it, Duo offered his own name, "I'm Duo Maxwell."

"Maxw—" The young man didn't pale so much as look suddenly stressed. "Oh. Oh, no. I heard about your father. My condolences."

"Thanks," Duo replied. "And thanks for letting me tag along with you guys that night."

"That night? Wasn't that the night your father— Oh, Allah."

"I'm really sorry if I…" He broke off and tried again. "I thought the same guys might be after me, but I didn't even think I'd be putting you in any danger. I did, though, and that wasn't right. Damn it, I just didn't know what else to do until…" He glanced my way and his look said it all. Q was observant enough to read between the lines and he knew to keep his mouth shut about what he found there.

Q's expression then twisted with equal measures of apology and humor. "Ah, actually, perhaps I ought to introduce _myself._ My name isn't Quentin. It's Quatre. Quatre Reberba Winner."

Duo stiffened. "Winner?"

"Yes, and I doubt you could have been any safer that night than you were with me." Before either Duo or I could ask precisely what he meant by that, he volunteered, "Do you see the man at the magazine rack by the airport kiosk? And the one ordering a coffee at the café? And the one talking on his cell phone by the windows to your right?" Winner didn't glance around as he spoke conversationally. "They're all with me. My father insists."

"Holy crap," Duo remarked, blinking.

I didn't ask; Duo would fill me in on the details later. Besides, I was more than capable of sussing out the gist of things. I conducted a thorough survey of the area. In addition to the three guards who had been pointed out, there were two other middle-eastern-looking men nearby who also seemed to be operating in a similar manner: they kept their bodies angled toward Winner, watching him out of the corner of their eyes. Their lips moved as they murmured to each other via earwicks.

When I turned my attention back to Winner, he was openly assessing my body language: I'd moved closer to Duo, shifting so that I could shield him at a moment's notice. Caught as I was, I didn't bother backing down and when Duo, perhaps subconsciously, inched a little closer, a little thrill of vindication shot through me.

Winner noticed it all. I stared him down. I was not going to apologize for anything.

Seeing this, he gave me a rueful grin. Ja, he knew I had more in common with his bodyguards than I did with him. Winner's discerning look told me he had considerable experience dealing with people like me. And that in turn told me that, whoever Winner was, he was a fairly important person; his father had felt it necessary to send at least five bodyguards to look after his son during the holidays.

If only Lord Maxwell had been so overbearing and paranoid.

Beside me, Duo sighed out a breath as he returned his attention to our gathering. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing I was, regretting the same lack of precaution. The moment stretched out, awkward and unbreaking.

Just as Winner drew in a breath, clearly intending to speak, the airline employees held up the sign announcing general boarding. The passengers rushed the gate like starving dogs at feeding time. I made no move to join them just yet.

"Look, Q," Duo said, smiling winningly at his friend, "if there's time before your flight, let's get caught up, but could you gimme a few minutes to see Trowa off?"

"Of course," Winner agreed readily. "I'll meet you at the café there." He nodded to me and held out a hand for me to shake which I readily grasped. I had no real reason to be hostile; Duo had made his preference clear when he'd moved closer to me. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Trowa."

"Likewise, Quatre."

Duo let out another long breath as Winner strolled across the way and up to the cashier to place his order. "Damn. He knows."

It was very likely. Those shrewd, clear eyes had undoubtedly caught the familiarity between Duo and myself on top of my protective stance and Duo's subconscious trust. Winner had figured out that I was likely more than just Duo's china and _much _more than just his bodyguard. As Duo's observation was a valid one, I didn't try to downplay it. "Who is he?" I asked instead.

"Long story short," Duo told me, "his father, who is a sheikh, owns a company based in Qatar that specializes in information technology and security systems. They regularly partner up with Maxwell Limited on projects." He paused, cleared his throat, and said, "Sorry I gave him your name."

"It's fine." It really was. "It was a good idea."

He chuckled. "And here you thought I was just a handsome face with a charming grin."

"I did think that," I admitted, "up until I realized that you knew your nocturnes."

He grinned.

I smiled. I ached to kiss him, but I knew I couldn't. Wouldn't. Not here. I pulled him into my arms and hugged him tightly, trying to keep it brotherly even though we both knew it wasn't. "I'll be in London before you know it," I murmured in his ear. "And I meant what I said: I'm with you no matter what."

His arms tightened around me. "I'm holding you to that."

Literally, it seemed. I breathed out a laugh.

The crowd of passengers was thinning but final boarding hadn't been announced yet and I wasn't moving a second before it was.

"Send me updates," he ordered so softly it was almost a request.

"I will." I promised, understanding in that moment how powerless he was feeling. Just as there'd been nothing I could do for him until I'd reached Vientiane, there was nothing he could do for me until I reached the arrivals hall of Heathrow. "And you—"

"Will do the same," he readily agreed.

"I'll call you when I can." And I would. Even if I had to kick everyone out of their bunks or lock myself in the kitchen cupboard.

Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention. The final boarding announcement flashed onto the screen above the flight counter. I released him reluctantly. "I'll see you in London."

"Forty-eight hours, Major Trowa," he reminded me, his eyes suspiciously bright.

I checked my watch just to shake a smile loose from him. "Got it." And because there was no one in the vicinity, I murmured, "I owe you a kiss."

"You bet you do."

Handing over my boarding pass and going through the gate was hard, almost as hard as letting him go after that night in Egypt three years ago. I took comfort in the knowledge that, if all went well, I'd be seeing him again soon and Darlian would be with him until then.

I paused just before I entered the retractable passenger ramp and glanced back. Duo was still standing there, watching me. I wondered suddenly if he'd watched me walk away three years ago. This time, I gave him an encouraging smile and a nod. I'd be with him as soon as humanly possible.

It wasn't easy leaving him in that hands of his lawyer, but I had no other choice. I had to go back to Lagos because that was where the documents I needed in order to enter the UK and the States were waiting for me. I was lucky they'd been able to change the issuance dates; changing the location of issuance would have pushed things back weeks. I could not wait weeks.

The flight back was not the unendurable nightmare it had been before, but it was still nerve-wracking. I now blended in with the other first class passengers thanks to my suit, but I despised the scented towels and the wine menu just as much. What did I care about those bloody things when something could go wrong in Lagos, trapping me in Africa and Duo in England without backup?

I arrived in Addis Ababa before Duo landed in Copenhagen. I spent most of my ninety-minute layover composing a message to him as slowly as possible. Every time I wrote out the words "Watch your back" I deleted them. This time, when the airline staff announced pre-boarding, I didn't hang back. I knew it was doff but I couldn't shake the feeling that the sooner I got on the bloody plane, the sooner I'd be arriving in Lagos.

Maybe it worked; we landed in Nigeria fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Without a bag to collect from the carousels, I headed directly through customs. The captain's greeting boomed out across the arrivals hall of Lagos' international airport, startling me from my single-minded contemplation of the nearest exit where I was planning to wait for my ride, "Aweh, Trowa!"

I stopped in my tracks.

He strode forward, grinning widely through his beard. "Well, look at you!"

I was surprised to see him here in the building. He hadn't said anything about meeting me in the lobby when I'd informed him of my return flight. "You're not paying for airport parking," I accused bluntly.

"Nooit!" he reassured me, as frugal as ever. "Martins is circling the complex in the bakkie."

Something about the captain's tone made me ask, "By himself?"

He chuckled. "Bryce is navigating."

Oh, bloody ever-bugger-fucking hell. I glanced down at my suit. "I should get changed before they pull around." If I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it, not until I boarded the plane for London tomorrow morning anyway. _If, _in fact, I had the documentation I'd need in order to enter the country.

Traveling from east to west, I hadn't lost much time. Our flight from Vientiane had been befokken early, so it was only just gone lunch here. I was wearing the suit because I needed to put in an appearance at not one but two embassies by the end of the business day today. But if those two moegoes were going to see me like this, I'd have to scheme a new strategy.

The captain patted me soundly on the shoulder. "Too late for that, Trowa."

"What?"

"They saw you on the telly. The local news aired clips from the press conference." He grinned, looking me up and down. "Same suit, is it?"

I bit back a groan.

It was his habit to always lead the way, but he kept pace with me and my roller bag through the airport exit as I moved at funeral procession pace. He said suddenly, "We're all proud of you."

"No," I replied, "don't be." Without Duo nearby to distract me from it, failure curdled in my belly.

Striding toward the edge of the pavement, ready to raise a beefy arm to flag down the 4x4 when it next passed by, he replied, "You got to your man, didn't you?"

"But I lost his father." I almost couldn't say the words aloud.

Still, he didn't look at me. He squinted into the distance and demanded with almost brutal directness, "Are you to blame?"

"In part."

The captain reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "Where did you go wrong?"

I couldn't answer; there _was_ no simple answer to that. Duo had already been over it, had dissected the whole sorry thing, had drilled holes in my fortress of regret. Was I to blame or wasn't I? Even that much was uncertain. Ever since Darlian's arrival, I'd been so focused on Duo that I hadn't brooded on my own culpability. True, Duo seemed to have forgiven me, but that hadn't absolved me. I swallowed thickly. "I…"

"It wasn't your fault."

I looked up sharply.

"I've known you nearly all your life, Trowa," the captain reminded me earnestly. I had his full attention now. "You're like a son to me and you've never been at a loss for words when there was something that needed to be said. If you can't tell me _what_ you did wrong, then you did _nothing_ wrong."

I stiffened. "There was something I didn't do _right."_ There must have been.

"That's life. We only get one shot at it, from moment to moment. We do the best we can and live with the rest." His hand was still on my shoulder. He gripped me more firmly, giving me a gentle but insistent shake. "You're your own man, Trowa."

It wasn't meant as a comfort. Perhaps it was meant as an apology. It felt more like a warning.

Just then, a dusty bakkie pulled up and Bryce leaned out the window with a lewd wolf-whistle. "Well, now, who's this smart-looking guy? We don't know anyone like him, do we, Martins?"

"Not that I'm aware of. But he does look a little familiar."

"That's because we saw him on TV!"

"Oh, yeah… He's not as tall in real life."

"Shut it," I told them both, reaching for the door handle and tossing my suitcase into the cab. Surprisingly, they let it go. I could only guess that the captain was silently interceding on my behalf, gesturing and glaring them into silence.

I couldn't blame either Martins or Bryce for ribbing me. As far as they knew, my mission had been a success, was _still_ a success: Duo had emailed me from Copenhagen to tell me he was fine; he was safe. What they didn't know was that I'd only managed half of my objectives. They had no idea that I'd had to pull Duo away from his trapped and dying father on the roof of the temple where his body had been found. They didn't know that I'd had to force Duo to choose me. They didn't know how close I'd come to getting both Duo and his father out of there alive, so they couldn't know how badly it tormented me that I hadn't.

I had no intention of explaining it to them.

"Where to first?" Martins asked.

"The US embassy," I said. I had an appointment there on the hour. I dug the unused roll of US dollars out of my pocket and tossed it over the barrier of the seats onto the dash in front of him. "Thanks for the lend."

"Anytime, kiddo," he replied and, palming the cash, he pulled out into traffic.

I didn't know what kind of resistance I was expecting at the US embassy but whatever I was bracing myself for didn't happen. I was there a grand total of fifteen minutes before the clerk returned with my passport and showed me the new visa seal that had been placed on the next available page. I paid the administrative fee and went downstairs to the car park.

"That was fast," Bryce mused. "Maybe I should get me one of them suit things."

"They're dead useful in fluorescent lighting," I told him flatly. "British embassy next, Martins."

He passed me a flask. "Have some coffee, kid. You look like your ass is draggin'."

I waited until we'd stopped at a robot to pour myself half a capful and down it in one gulp. I wasn't in any rush because I was expecting the light to suddenly change and Martins to step on the gas. Making sure I didn't stain my only suit was a concern, but it wasn't the main one: Martins' coffee was always just a tweak shy of siff and if you didn't gulp it, it'd be coming back up the same way it'd gone down. Guaranteed.

The brew woke me up with the gift of a grimace and got me into the lobby of the British embassy under my own power. I doubted that anything more palatable would have been able to do the same.

At the British embassy, I encountered a similar lack of obstacles. It only made me all the more tense. I wandered around the lobby as they did whatever they needed to do with my passport, reading notices meant for British citizens. It bothered me that, even though I was looking at English, there were too many words that I didn't know the meaning of. Telling myself that they were what Duo called "legalese" did not give me any measure of comfort. Despite my vow three years ago to study hard, to remake myself, to become Duo's equal, I was pathetically far behind him.

"Mr. Barton?"

I turned back to the service desk and the woman who had initially taken my passport for verification. "Yes?"

"Your documents are all in order. Best of luck in your new position."

"Thank you," I replied numbly. I paid the fee with my dwindling savings and left.

"Now where to?" Bryce asked as I slumped into the rear seat of the bakkie, exhausted. The strings of tension that had looped and knotted around me dissolved, or perhaps they snapped. I was done in. Their disappearance didn't mean that I didn't have to be vigilant any longer; I was sure there were a number of people who would actively try to keep me away from Duo if given the chance, but I couldn't continue fighting their phantoms until I'd gotten a solid ten hours of sleep.

"Back to base," I requested. "But don't expect me to do any cooking." I didn't give rocks that it was tradition for a troupe member on his way out to cook for everyone on his last night as a Barton Merc.

Martins laughed. "We'll let you off the hook just this once."

"Happily, too," Bryce added with an exaggerated shudder. He was probably remembering the last time I'd made bredie. It hadn't been the first time I'd scorched the soup, undercooked the beans, and turned the meat into shoe leather, but it looked like it was going to be the last.

I grunted out a couple of syllables in lieu of a response and dug my cell phone out of my pocket. My vision repeatedly blurred as I fumbled through the email I was attempting to send. /It's done,/ I texted to Duo. And, as there was now no reason for why I wouldn't be making my flight in the morning, I added: /I'll be seeing you tomorrow evening./

I still intended to call him but, as it turned out, he called me first.

"You really got everything?" he blurted after the call connected.

"Ja," I answered, ignoring the catcalls the other guys were giving me as I hauled my arse off of the bench in the kitchen and headed outside. The captain had cooked tonight so supper was decent, but I'd left my plate behind without a moment's hesitation as soon as my phone had started buzzing.

"What the hell is all that noise?"

I waited until the door shut behind me so I wouldn't have to raise my voice over the ruckus. "Overwhelming approval for the suit you bought me."

He laughed. "No shit? You're still wearing it?"

"I'm planning on bloody sleeping in it."

He chuckled. "Your flight's not _that_ early."

True, but— "That's not the reason."

There was a moment of silence as Duo worked through that. Eventually he sighed. "I give up. I'm too damn jetlagged to figure it out. Explain, please."

My own exhaustion retreated for a moment and I grinned. He was too honest for his own good sometimes. "Well, since _you're_ not here to take up space in my bunk, I'll have to make do with the things you bought me."

"That… is kinda sappy."

"I'm a cupboard romantic."

"Closet," he corrected, laughing softly. "But seriously, Tro. Put on your PJs. You can cuddle up with your cell phone."

I had every intention of doing so. "Doesn't everyone curl up with their cell phone at night?"

"Hah! So true. Why do you think I answered your first text message so damn fast?"

Oh God. I was instantly aching to get my hands on him, and yet I wasn't even sure if he'd be able to let me that close once I got to London. Public displays of affection certainly wouldn't be smart and I owed it to him to be smart about this. "I'm too bloody exhausted to pretend that doesn't turn me on."

"You've seen me in my PJs. They're not all that exciting, Tro."

"That is a matter of opinion."

He chuckled darkly and pitched his voice low. "Your opinion is very important to us."

I gritted my teeth. Why did I let him tease me like this? "Us?" I pressed, digging for the punch line of the joke.

"Your china, your maat, your kerel. I'm told three is a lucky number, so I'm keepin' all of 'em."

"Jesus." I needed a moment. "You're telling me this over the phone?"

"I've gotta work on my timing, I know. But hell, nobody's perfect."

His body was as close to perfect as a body _could_ get. Oh God. I could not be thinking about him like this now. Once we hung up, I was going to have walk back into the kitchen and face all the guys. I'd taken off the suit jacket so I had no camouflage for my arousal. None whatsoever.

"If I can't sleep tonight, it'll be your fault," I accused, trying to brace myself against the tingling in my blood which was pooling low in my belly. Thoughts of Duo-as-my-kerel weren't exactly restful.

"Is this the part where I offer to help you with that?"

God, _yes._ "No. This is the part where you tell me where you are and whether or not you're safe and secure for the night. Then you tell me what your schedule is for tomorrow so that I'll know where to meet you. After _that,_ we hang up and both of us try to get some sleep."

"Tro, you know I love you, but you've really gotta work on your pillow talk, baby."

I bit back a bark of laughter and let a sudden, evil inclination pitch _my _voice low. Turnabout was fair play, after all. "Maybe you can help me with that, _bokkie."_ The instant the endearment left my mouth, I was tensing in anticipation of the guys' reactions. It was a reflex. They weren't here and they couldn't hear me; I was safe, but it took a moment for that to sink in.

Duo produced a sound that was part sigh, part groan, and part growl. "Oh, fuck. That voice," he accused, damning me with his tone. "You are so evil. So, so evil. Fine. You win. I'm in London at the Dorset Square Hotel. Thomas is across the hall and I'm staying put for the night. Tomorrow I'll be at the chapel all day. Relena Darlian, Thomas' daughter, will be picking you up at the airport and giving you a ride."

Anticipation made my hands tremble. In less than twenty-four hours, I'd be seeing him again. "I'll wear the suit."

"The white shirt and black tie," he added and, if he hadn't mentioned that much, I might not have realized that I was meeting him at an actual memorial service until I'd walked inside the church. Duo took evasion to a whole new level. He continued brusquely, "Now my work here is done… but you're welcome to stay on the line as I sit here all by myself and think of you."

I didn't for one moment believe that he was going to skommel on the eve of the public ceremony meant to honor his father's life and memory. "Duo," I said firmly, a little alarmed now, "just take a moment. Breathe and relax."

He did. "I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say. I don't know what's wrong with me."

I had a suspicion and I suspected he was coping with his father's death the only way he could: by avoiding it rigorously. Now that I thought of it, I realized that he hadn't once used the words "dead" and "my dad" in the same sentence. And although I couldn't recall it with crystal clarity, I was sure he'd been equally round-about in acknowledging his brother's death; and he might never have mentioned that his mother had died if I hadn't asked him a direct question about her. I bit back a curse. Maybe all this suggestive talk was just another distraction for him. Maybe he still didn't know what he wanted from me aside from a means of avoiding reality for as long as possible.

Damn him.

I sighed. "It's fine." It wasn't but— "I'll be there soon and we'll sort it out." One way or another.

"Yeah," he said, more to take up space in the conversation than in agreement. "Look, I really appreciate everything you're doing for me. Even when you call me on my bullshit. No. Check that. _Especially_ when you call me on my bullshit."

I let out a breath of relief. "I told you," I reminded him softly. "Whatever you need."

"What about you?"

"What?"

"This ain't a one-way street. What do you need, Tro?"

I didn't even have to ponder it. "Honesty," I told him, "and—" I broke off before I could confess to my greatest fear. He didn't need to deal with that.

"And?" he insisted and I had to admit that I'd been expecting him to push, had even been counting on it.

I bit my lip. My fingers curled tighter around the phone. "And don't ask me to leave you."

"I could never do that."

I released the breath I'd been holding but my fingers didn't loosen. "Good."

"Sometimes I am," he admitted and I could hear his smile.

I rolled my eyes. "Hang up the phone, Duo," I told him softly.

He sighed. "Yeah, OK, Tro."

I waited until the connection cut before lowering the phone from my ear. I could feel myself smiling. In my chest, my heart was beating, strong and steady but not too fast. My arousal had faded, but I hesitated to head back inside. I needed a moment to think.

Maybe we weren't as far along as Duo had implied, maybe he wasn't as ready for me to be his lover as I was to be his, but we were still friends. And if I could keep him honest about it, then one day we might be more.

It wasn't much, but that thought got me through the night.

"You're always welcome in the troupe," the captain told me as he put the bakkie in park beside the departures hall. I was early for my flight, but I hadn't been able to go back to sleep when my eyes had snapped open at dawn, my heart racing with irrational panic. I'd fumbled with my wristwatch and checked the time; no, I hadn't missed my flight. It had only been a bad dream.

But when I'd slouched into the kitchen and set my bag beside the door, the captain had offered me a cup of coffee and an early ride. "To miss the morning traffic" was the excuse he'd used. I hadn't cared. I'd agreed immediately.

"If you're ever in need…" he continued, speaking to the dashboard.

I nodded. "Thanks, Captain."

His beard twitched with a grin, a knee-jerk reaction of humor. The moment of silence swelled between us on the bench seat. I hesitated to reach for the door handle. "I'll call when I arrive."

"Do that," he agreed.

Words failed me.

Smiling, the captain reached across the seat and opened the door for me. "The future waits for no man, Trowa."

I got out, dragging my overpriced suitcase with me. I felt naked without my knives and pistol, helpless. In many ways, I suppose I was. Was this what the moment of one's own birth was supposed to feel like?

I looked at him through the 4x4's open door, knowing I couldn't go back. I could only go forward. The captain waited for me to shut the door. When I finally did, he drove off. I didn't watch him leave.

I turned toward the airport entrance and wheeled my suitcase up to the check-in counter. I was the first person in line and the first passenger at the gate. With as befokken early as I was, it practically begged for flight delays, but the plane lifted off on time.

As the plane climbed higher and higher, I closed my eyes and put thoughts of the troupe out of my mind. That part of my life was done with. I was going to be with Duo now.

The thought of him had me smiling over the memory of Duo's good-morning check-in message. Apparently, scones did not dunk well in English breakfast tea. It spoke volumes of his discomfort; Duo only acted like he was half his age when he was feeling particularly off-balance.

He'd also written: /Thanks for teaching me all those smooth moves back in Egypt because I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to kill someone to get a decent cup of coffee in this damn place./ Ja, he was off-balance and hating every moment of it.

I'd texted back, /I never taught you how to kill someone. I could, though. If you asked nicely./

I shifted in my seat as I watched Lagos slowly shrink and spin beneath the jet. Teasing Duo was a tease for me as well. I couldn't _not _imagine how he might ask nicely. Still… Duo might talk like all he thought about was getting me alone for a quick press, but our conversation last night had blown some of the smoke out of the room and cracked the mirrors. In fact, now that I thought of it, he didn't sound so much like he was trying to get into my pants, but that he was hoping I'd get into his.

I scowled as the hints assembled themselves for my inspection and the only conclusion I could draw was not a pleasant one. Duo's blatant teasing and his hesitance to make the first move in our encounters made me think he was hoping I'd take the decision out of his hands. I doubted he realized what he was doing, which was why I could not, under any circumstances, give in. It would probably kill me to do it, but I had to wait for him to man up to what he wanted. He had to be sure or I could lose more than a warm welcome in his bed. I could lose his trust.

By the time the plane began descending toward Heathrow, I'd managed to focus my mind on my objectives. I would be Duo's friend. I would watch his back. I would keep him safe. I would trust him to work with me on those three points, but I would not expect anything else from him. I would not urge him to give me something he wasn't ready for or something he would later come to regret. I would not take his choices away from him. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to manage all of that, but I'd suss it out. There had to be a way. There _must _be.

It was a strange thrill to see my name written out on one of those welcome cards in the arrivals hall and it was anticlimactic to find someone other than Duo holding it up. I'd just spent the last six and a half hours schooling myself for this confrontation and he wasn't even here for it. But of course he wasn't. He'd told me to expect Darlian's daughter.

"Relena Darlian?" I asked, stepping over to where the card-bearer, a young woman with long, light brown hair, was standing.

"Yes. Mr. Barton?" she confirmed and I nodded, shaking the hand she offered. "It's so nice to meet a friend of Dominic's. He speaks very highly of you."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. If _Duo _had spoken highly of me, I would have been thrilled. But I didn't know why he might be speaking of me at all in a context where he was known as _Dominic_ rather than _Duo._

When I didn't respond immediately, she added, "He also seemed concerned that you'd have difficulties with the immigration authorities. You didn't, did you?"

I shook my head. No, after all the worrying and fretting I'd done over it, I'd more or less daydreamed my way through the checkpoint. Duo's latest message had demanded my total attention. Only now did I wonder if he'd intended it that way. Had that been his way of "helping" me through the stress of immigration?

I suspected it was.

When Relena Darlian cleared her throat, I realized I was still standing in the middle of the arrivals hall. "Can I help you with your luggage?" she asked solicitously.

"No, thank you."

"The car's this way."

Her stride was brisk and keeping pace with her helped keep my mind alert. As we walked, I phoned the captain, reporting in for the last time. The call was short; we'd already said our goodbyes.

"Would you prefer to stop at the hotel before going to the chapel?"

I glanced at Relena Darlian out of the corner of my eye. I didn't think I was imagining the curiosity in her expression. She carried herself like a professional but she couldn't have been more than four years older than me. Of course she was curious. Lord Dominic Maxwell had made _me _a priority and I was an unknown.

I considered my choices, keeping that vague concept of appearances in mind. I would have to get used to this kind of scheming, so I might as well start now. I weighed my options. If I chose the hotel, I wasn't sure what kind of impression I'd give her, perhaps one which spoke of a causal relationship between myself and Duo. But I was certain that if I chose the chapel, I'd seem focused on Duo and his wellbeing, which would suggest that _he _was _my_ priority. It would reveal too much.

To hell with appearances.

"The chapel is fine."

Her mouth twitched into a tiny grin. "That's what Dominic said you'd say."

"Did he?"

"Yes, but he was adamant that you be given the choice."

I felt like I'd passed a test, and it felt like Duo had turned a corner. Hadn't I just spent the flight contemplating how necessary it was that he make the decision for himself on whether or not to be with me? And here he was mirroring my own resolution albeit on a smaller scale.

The weather was miserable and the drive torturous. If I'd had a license, I would have ordered Relena Darlian to pull over and let me behind the wheel. It was all I could do not to las her to stop operating the pedals in those bloody high heels of hers. In the end, I had to run through the process of dismantling and cleaning a rifle point by point in my mind as I stared out the window. It helped distract me from the sudden stops and hooting horns.

The woman clearly needed a driver. She was putting the rest of motorized London in mortal peril.

I didn't expect anything so grand and dramatic as Duo waiting for my arrival in the rain at the front door of the chapel and he wasn't, but I was distracted from my vague disappointment by the chapel itself. This was not a chapel. This was a cathedral.

If Thomas Darlian hadn't ordered the suit I was currently wearing and Duo hadn't approved it, I would have had to dare myself to go inside. It didn't help matters that I was feeling acutely nauseous thanks to Relena's driving, but I banished my discomfort. Duo was waiting for me.

I tucked my suitcase into an antechamber that Relena indicated with her dripping umbrella and then I held open the door to the nave and waited for her to precede me.

No, you wouldn't think that manners were a thing mercenaries would bother with, but the captain had taken care to demonstrate them flawlessly with clients. We'd won just as many contracts due to his attentive gestures as through our intimidating posturing. I went with the former method as, under the circumstances, intimidation would only get me noticed unfavorably.

The nave was extraordinarily grand beyond anything I'd ever seen in my travels throughout Africa. Of course, I sought out Duo first and foremost but, seeing him in a hushed discussion with someone who had come to pay their respects, I permitted myself a moment to absorb the grandeur so that I would not be distracted by it a second time. By the time the dark-suited, somber mourner had moved away, Relena Darlian was gesturing me forward.

I couldn't reach for Duo's hand here and grasp it the way I wanted to, not with dozens of people looking on, and I didn't trust myself to stop at a simple handshake, but I dared to stand close enough that the sleeves of our suits brushed.

"You're really here," he observed and I watched his shoulders relax.

"Ja," I answered and then I couldn't ignore the plain coffin on the raised dais any longer. I thought about apologizing, but the words seemed so pointless now. And what did I really expect him to say in reply that hadn't already been said?

"Are you hungry? Tired? I told Relena to take you to the hotel if you wanted—"

"I know. I'm fine." I'd wanted to be here. Nowhere else.

When the massive, wooden door to the nave opened again, I moved unobtrusively to a pew, seating myself near the stone wall and its high, narrow stained glass windows. As I listened to Duo's gracious acceptance of condolences, I let myself remember Lord Maxwell. I recalled my first glimpse of him: stately, distinguished, a man of means and purpose. Duo had seemed like a lost and mangy – if graceful – puppy beside him, but looking at him now I could see the same inner strength and determination. Perhaps, in those final moments atop the collapsing temple, Lord Victor Townsend Maxwell had passed that self-possession on to his son.

I looked away when it became difficult to breathe through my suddenly congested nose. I would not cry here. If anyone had a right to tears, it was Duo. Not me.

To distract myself as Duo shook hands with more visitors and the pews filled with mourners, I removed my cell phone from my pocket and began writing a text message that I had no intention of sending. All the words came out stilted and jagged, like a novice's knife work, but I let them flow, drip, and splatter as they would. I told Duo how strong he was, how much I admired him, how confusing and inspiring he was in turns, how much I believed in him, trusted him, could see my own future thanks to his presence in it. Duo would call it sappy, I was sure.

It was the longest thing I'd ever written in my life. It was rambling and without paragraph breaks. It would probably make my eyes bleed to re-read it. When the priest approached Duo to tell him in hushed tones that everything was ready, I hastily saved the text in the unsent messages folder and shut off my phone. Duo sat near the aisle, but catching his single, pleading glance in my direction, I rose and moved toward him, taking the seat beside his as if I had every right to be there.

If curiosity could be music, there would have been a single, quizzical note blaring in perfect five-part harmony in the church. Only a handful of these well-dressed people had seen me before. I was sure to be a favorite topic of gossip later. I had no desire to be present for it.

The memorial service was short. The priest spoke as did several of Lord Maxwell's longtime friends and business associates. Duo made no move to address the assembly himself and no one seemed to expect him to. There were very few tears shed and I wondered if this class of people were simply better schooled at hiding their emotions or if none of them had truly felt a kinship with Duo's father.

Duo looked… Actually, I didn't have a word for it. His eyes were dry. I would have described him as looking numb except for the determined angle of his chin and the straight line of his shoulders. I didn't reach for his hand, but I watched for any indication that he might reach for mine. His self-containment was dread-inducing. When the storm within him broke – and I was sure it would – the deluge would undoubtedly drown us both.

When the priest returned to the podium and closed the service, I was relieved. I hadn't known the man that these strangers had spoken of and I resented their efforts to alter my views. Never mind that they had all had nothing but good things to say; my idea of Lord Maxwell was my own and I was not interested in carrying around someone else's baggage in my memory. I decided that this would be the first, last, and only public memorial service I would attend. I wondered if Duo's stiff shoulders and clenched jaw meant he felt the same.

Duo stood and said farewell as everyone filed past on their way outside, back into the icy rain. It was nearly dinner time and I was sure that everyone was letting their hunger pangs lead them to more pleasant venues. Only the Darlians and the cathedral staff remained behind with us. I listened as the priest promised to have the coffin delivered to the cemetery the following morning. Duo nodded, offered quietly spoken and somber thanks, and then bid a good night to the Darlians and the priest.

He reached a hand out to me and I stood. Duo didn't bother with pretense here among these people. He clasped my hand hard enough to make me wince and I would have done just that if I hadn't been half-hoping for precisely this demonstration. I squeezed back.

Maybe the Darlians and the priest watched us leave. I didn't look behind me to check. I only had eyes for Duo. He collected my suitcase without a word and we dashed out into the rain. I was glad for his hand in mine when the cark park revealed half a dozen nearly identical, black cars. Duo aimed us at one in particular and we splashed over.

He pressed the remote and gestured for me to jump into the passenger's seat. I did and half a second later my suitcase got tossed into the back. I reached over to open the driver's side door for him and he slid into the car. His momentum brought him over to my side and suddenly he was kissing me deeply and thoroughly. It was dark out and water was sheeting over the windows. The area was empty of people. I didn't hesitate to respond in kind. My wet hand ended up cradling his head around the damp base of his once-again banded hair.

I could have kissed him forever, inhaling the scent off his skin as his tongue brushed and rolled against mine in the darkness of our open mouths. Forever. Yes, if not for the insistent twitch of hardening flesh inside my trousers, I could have quite happily existed in the moment eternally.

He leaned back first. "Damn it. I don't think I can drive right now."

I grinned. "As well."

"At least you have the excuse of not having a driver's license."

I didn't argue with him. I'd taken my shifts driving all over the bloody continent of Africa whenever we'd trekked on in search of new work, but I'd never bothered with a driver's license. I hadn't had a permanent residence to put on it.

He sighed out a chuckle and reached up for no other reason than to brush a fingertip over my lower lip. "I'm glad you're here."

I lifted a brow in skepticism. "You're _glad?"_ I think, after all the hullabaloo and the flights I'd been on, that I deserved a bit more than that. He could certainly do better.

"Relieved," he elaborated. "Ecstatic. Thrilled to the point of nearly coming in my shorts."

"Duo," I gently chided him.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Sorry. I know I need to cut that out."

"No, just give me your honesty," I reminded him. "Under no circumstances should you cut anything out or _off."_

He laughed. It was a hard sound, as if he were expunging pieces of his broken heart.

I said nothing even when he'd wound down and was slumped over the steering wheel, his forehead pressed to the leather and heavy, panting sobs dampening the airbag emblem. I reached for his bangs, smoothing them away so I could see his face.

He rolled his head toward my hand and I kept stroking his temple and hair. This struck me as a mothering gesture; I'd seen it occasionally when I'd gone into small towns and villages to buy and barter for supplies. Sometimes mothers touched their young children thusly. Duo was not a child… or was he? Perhaps both of us were, or wished we were. Ja, that sounded right: if only he and I could retreat into that time of innocence and freedom. I'd never known that state of grace, but Duo might be able to lead me there. Maybe if I paid attention, he'd show me what it was like.

"Guns are like people?" he whispered and I needed a moment for the words to sink in.

"Ja," I answered, remembering when I'd given him that advice. "Handle with care."

I watched as his mouth curved into a grin. He opened his eyes and sighed. There wasn't a single tear in sight. He straightened and I let my hand drop to the armrest between our seats. He recurled his fingers around the steering wheel. "You're better at that than I am," he told me.

"You're better than you give yourself credit for." What he needed was to show himself the same care he showed others, but I couldn't bring myself to rip and tear at his walls when he was trying so hard to keep himself together. He'd come to grieve for his father in his own time. Just because I thought he'd be better off facing it sooner rather than later didn't give me the right to alter the course he'd set. And just because I thought he should let himself grieve didn't mean I wanted to be the one to put him through that misery.

Duo turned toward me, his hands still gripping the wheel and, for a moment, it looked as if he might say something: a few words to go with the look of deep appreciation and motivation in his eyes. In the end, he just shook his head and reached for the ignition. "Whadaya say we give this driving thing a try?"

"I'm all for it," I replied, "especially if there's takeaway involved."

"Takeaway," he muttered. "Geez, it's like you're in your natural habitat here."

I buckled my seatbelt as he reversed out of the parking space and aimed the car at the street. Duo was a much better driver than Relena Darlian. I shared this observation with him and he chuckled.

"I've never had the pleasure," he admitted.

It pleased me that he hadn't. "Skort," I advised and then elaborated when I glimpsed his frown of confusion, "You've been warned."

"Duly noted."

We stopped at a fish-and-chips shop and ate our dinners in the car.

"Where are we going?" I finally thought to ask when I realized we were turning onto a highway bound for Colchester, wherever that was.

"To the house."

"The house?"

"Um, yeah." I stared at him until he added a bit more to that. "All the Maxwells are buried there."

Ah. Before I could fill the silence by asking him to describe the house to me, he nodded toward the glove compartment. "Plug in the music player, will ya? Play us something for a rainy, British evening."

This being my first rainy, British evening, I wasn't sure what kind of music that description was supposed to indicate. I scrolled through the playlist and was pleasantly surprised by the range of classical music that was stored on it. I selected Bach's _Toccata and Fugue._

Duo grinned as the signature opening blasted out from the car's speakers. "Yeah," he approved.

"Is this your music player?" I asked, as I browsed through the offerings. I had yet to find anything that looked like indie rock and I knew that was his most recent musical preference.

"Uh, actually, it's yours."

"What?"

"Um, happy welcome to England?"

"Duo…" I objected.

"I picked it up at the airport. Duty free. And putting music on it kept me from going batshit crazy when jetlag hit this morning at three freakin' thirty a.m."

I could have argued with him, but there didn't seem to be a point. "Thank you," I told him.

"Sure thing." He said it lightly, as if he hadn't bought it and packed it full of music that he'd known I'd like and given it to me so he could get thanks for it. I marveled. I came from a world where favors and debts were counted. Even amongst comrades and in jest, they were still counted and remembered and called upon. Oftentimes, they were the glue that kept friendships intact. Duo never bothered with keeping track of things like debts or favors. For a moment, my hold on him seemed frighteningly tenuous.

"What do you usually eat for breakfast in the mornings?" he asked suddenly and I let go of my worries. I was being a chop. I didn't need favors and debts to hold onto Duo, to make sure he was holding onto me.

"Coffee."

He laughed again. "As helpful as that is to know, I was talking about food."

"And?" I returned drolly.

"Coffee is not a food item."

"Depends on how thick it is."

"OK, rule number one: I do the cooking."

"Fine." I thrilled at the very existence of the rule itself. What it implied was that Duo and I would be around each other often and in close enough proximity for cooking to be an issue. It implied cohabitation. It implied everything I wanted. Miraculous.

Obliviously, he continued, "Brace yourself for the amazing culinary delights of Chef Boyardee."

"I can hardly wait."

"I might even let you assist if you can manage a can opener without incident."

"What an adventure. A real jol."

He tilted his head to the side and grinned cockily out at the soggy night. "Hey, I know how to show a guy a good time."

"Do you?"

He ducked his head. "Well, I haven't gotten any complaints so far."

I doggedly dug deeper, "And how many opportunities for complaints have there been?"

"Uh… well, there's you…"

I waited.

He continued not adding to the list.

I leaned back in my seat and smiled. He glanced my way, his lips twitching under the strain of trying to keep a straight face.

"How far out is the house?" I asked so I could hear him talk.

"Not far by American standards. Or African standards, I bet. But you might as well settle in. Even short drives are ungodly long when you're starting out in London."

"Can you give me an ETA?"

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "By nine p.m. definitely. Eight-thirty if we're really lucky."

That gave us almost two hours. Two hours alone with Duo with no emergencies, no catastrophes, no life-or-death decisions. I didn't know what to say next.

"Even if we hit the traffic jam to end all traffic jams or something and crawl in at ten or eleven, Howard should still be awake," Duo offered into the silence.

"Howard?"

"Yeah. He takes care of the place. Fixes stuff, makes sure the grounds don't go wild, keeps the cars tuned up. That sort of thing." Duo glanced at me. "Just don't expect the place to be all sparkling with cleanliness and shit. Howie doesn't do windows. Or the dusting. Not sure when he mighta last vacuumed, either."

"I'll keep my shoes on indoors."

"That's my plan."

"When was the last time you were there?"

Duo tapped his fingers against the wheel as he pulled into the passing lane to overtake a Mini Cooper that was puttering along. "A long damn time ago. Over ten years."

"But you're sure Howard's still there _not-_cleaning the house?"

"Oh yeah. He an' my d—ah, um," Duo cleared his throat. "My dad and him were pretty tight. He used to fly for my grandfather."

I looked at him. "Your grandfather had his own pilot?"

"Er, yeah. I guess traffic around the airport was pretty shitty something like thirty years ago, too."

I breathed out a chuckle, unable to imagine the kind of lifestyle Duo was reluctantly describing.

"We still have the plane but we don't use it much anymore. It's easier to drive or take the train to Heathrow."

"Hm," I remarked, boggling quietly.

"Jesus, I sound like such a dick. Sorry."

I laughed. "No. I just can't imagine." I could imagine dusty bakkies and potholed trails through the wilderness. I could imagine spending days on the road, driving in shifts to see about a new job with a potential client. I could not imagine a lifestyle so stable and extravagant that you could commute to the nearest international airport by private jet plane from your own backyard or nearly.

"Well, thank God the house is gonna be all stuffy and whatever. It might help balance out the, y'know, hugeness of it."

"Is it huge?"

"It sure as hell looked like it when I was seven years old."

His memory was spot on. When we finally pulled up in the circular drive out front, I could only make out the vaguest outline in the moonlight, but it was at least three stories tall. That counted as "huge" as far as I was concerned.

It had stopped raining about thirty minutes ago, and the ground was soggy beneath our feet. We hauled our suitcases up to the front door where Duo pushed a call button.

"Yo! What can I do ya for?" an old man's voice barked out of the speaker at us. I twitched; I'd been expecting someone more refined, sedate, butler-ish, and, er… British.

"It's Duo, the other Maxwell. Remember me?"

"Sure, kid! How's the braid hangin'?"

"It's hanging," Duo replied wryly. "You gonna open the front door or what?"

"Open the door? Yeah, I guess I could do that. For four easy payments of nineteen-ninety-five," he replied.

Duo snorted. "You're not impressing me or my date with that line, dude."

"A date, huh? You catch yourself a looker, kid?"

Duo grinned and winked at me. _"I_ sure think so."

I felt my face heat.

Howard laughed. "This I gotta see for myself!"

"Just buzz us through, man!"

"No can do. Got a short in the wiring somewhere. Haven't found it yet."

Duo complained, "A likely excuse."

Howard wheezed out a laugh. "Gimme ten minutes to gimp over there."

"On your mark, get set, hobble!" Duo replied and released the speaker button.

"You two sound friendly," I observed as the silence of the countryside settled around us.

Duo chuckled. "That's Howard for ya. Just you wait."

"Joy."

When the front door creaked open, the old man's irreverent humor suddenly made perfect sense. He was wearing a bright pink, button-down, short-sleeved, collared shirt with a pair of khaki shorts and some battered slops on his bony feet. His grey hair was too long and stuck straight out on each side like horns bracketing the bald spot on the top of his head. He wore black sunglasses. He grinned.

It was like looking at Duo fifty years from now.

I turned my sudden laugh into a cough.

"Hey, Duo! Damn, kid. It's been somethin' like ten years!"

"I've been busy."

"And this must be your looker," he continued stepping aside so we could drag ourselves into the foyer. Or maybe it was large enough to be called a reception hall. "Howard Schatz," he said, kicking the door closed and holding out a hand.

I shook it. "Trowa Barton."

"You boys hungry? I got some munchies in the cottage. You want me to bring 'em over?"

"Why? Are the kitchen cupboards bare?"

I felt my lips twitch into a smile and I suddenly understood why Duo had been so amused when I'd said "arse" to Yuy. Here he was, a staunch supporter of "closets," using the word "cupboard."

"'Course not! If you boys are in the market for canned tuna fish and ramen noodles, knock yourselves out."

"We'll manage," Duo muttered. "Thanks."

"All righty, then. See ya in the morning!" With a wave, Howard limped back through the house. We heard the back door open and shut a minute later.

Duo reset the locks on the doors and offered me a nervous smile. "So."

"So," I replied. Glancing in the direction Howard had gone, I asked, "Doesn't he know about your father?" The burial was tomorrow morning, right here on the grounds somewhere.

"Yeah. He knows." Duo looked like he was going to say more but, in the end, just shook his head. "You want something to eat?"

"Sure."

We wiped our feet and carried our suitcases into the kitchen where Duo promptly fixed us each a sauce pan of instant noodles. "Chicken or beef?" he asked holding one steaming pot in each hand.

He sounded just like a flight attendant coming by with the dinner cart. I didn't really care one way or the other, but he looked too tired to make a decision. "Beef." I slapped a pair of hand towels on the surface of the wooden butcher's block in the middle of the brick-lined room.

Duo set a pan down on each folded towel. After rummaging through the drawers, he handed me a fork and a spoon. "You want something to drink? Extra black pepper for the soup? I think I can find the spices—"

I shook my head and tapped the rim of his soup pot with my fork, calling him to the makeshift table. He didn't apologize for being nervous and I didn't expect him to. In some ways, he was as much a stranger here as I was.

He shoved his suit sleeves up his forearms. I shucked my jacket and laid it over my suitcase. We slurped through our second dinner. "Man, this stuff is crap," Duo announced after the third mouthful.

I'd had worse. "Did you check the expiration date on the packages?"

He sighed. "No."

I almost laughed. "It doesn't matter. They always taste like this."

"You're just tryin' to make me feel better," he grumbled and then gave me a shy smile. "Thanks."

Noodles consumed, we dumped our saucepans and eating utensils in the sink. "I'll get it later," Duo promised on a yawn. "Let's trek our shit upstairs."

He wasn't joking about the trek part. We hauled our things up three flights of winding stairs to the top floor, emerging in a sitting room boasting sheet-covered furniture that faced a massive brick fireplace. The house's wooden beams had been left exposed through the aged plaster of the walls and slanted roof. The space seemed cramped and cozy even though the residence itself was massive. It appealed to me greatly. Duo set his things down next to the top of the stairs and waved me toward a narrow, wood-paneled hallway.

"This one's yours," he said, pushing open the second door on the left. He felt along the wall for the switch and – with a soft yet victorious "Ah-ha!" – light flooded the room from a wrought iron chandelier. It was a generously proportioned bedroom. Like the hallway, it was lined with dark wood from floor to ceiling; the panels had been arranged in square sections. There was a large window with thick glass and abundant, black leading that crisscrossed the panes. The four-poster bed was positioned so that the morning light would greet the occupant at dawn.

Duo asked, "You want a hand making up the bed?"

"Sure," I agreed again, setting my things down next to a chest of drawers. I tracked Duo's movements as he went over to the enormous antique wardrobe and pulled out a set of linens from the shelf above the hangar bar. He shook them out and suddenly the whole room smelled of cedar. Between the two of us, it only took a few minutes to sort out the bed. He turned on the radiator and fiddled with the window lock, ensuring that it was shut tight. Duo then checked the attached bathroom, going through the cupboards and pulling out toilet paper, soap, and flannels. He ran the taps, both hot and cold, lifted the lid on the toilet tank, and finally pronounced the suite habitable.

"But there's no curtains on the window," he added.

I shrugged. I didn't expect my lingering jetlag from Laos to let me sleep in.

When Duo turned toward the door on a sigh, I didn't try to block his path. I didn't want him to go and I didn't want him to think that I wanted him to go, but I needed him to be sure that he wanted to stay. It was a fine line I was treading and I wasn't even sure if I could see it let alone stay on it.

He hovered in the hall beside the door for a minute and I took the chance to approach him. "Where's your room?" I asked softly, almost as if I were afraid he'd bolt for the next county over.

He nodded back the way we'd come. "Through the sitting room. The door on the end."

His fingers curled around the open door and I dared to reach up and stroke his hair on the pretense of taming a few wild strands. "You can stay here if you want."

I watched his Adam's apple bob. "I—"

That was all he said. Clearly, he hadn't made up his mind yet on whether or not he was my kerel here. I tried to squash my disappointment. He'd figure it out. He just needed time. Smiling softly, I let him go with a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

He nodded. "G'night, Trowa."

"Good night."

The door shut softly and I stood there for a solid minute waiting for it to open again, waiting to see Duo's bashful smile. When one minute turned into two, and then three, I distracted myself from the rejection by changing clothes. I hung the suit up and pulled on my sleepwear. I brushed my teeth and washed up. I turned down the quilt, blankets, and sheet but couldn't bring myself to climb into the massive, cold, and isolated bed by myself. I was so exhausted my bone marrow was throbbing, but I just couldn't do it.

With a sigh, I decided to locate Duo's room for myself. I'd come up with an excuse for making the trip. Surely, there was something I could ask him—

I opened the door and almost tripped over my own feet. Duo was standing in the hall in his pajamas, hands fisted at his sides as if he were seriously considering raising one and knocking on my door.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

"I'd say I changed my mind," he began, "but I was kinda hoping you'd invite me in all along. I don't know why I left. That was dumb."

"You had to put on your pajamas," I pointed out.

He sighed. "No, I didn't. Coulda stayed and slept in my underwear."

"You're really taking this honesty business to heart," I observed.

"Is it over the top?"

"No," I replied, stepping back and holding the door open.

He moved over the threshold. The instant the door closed for the second time, he had his arms around my chest. His hands fisted in the back of my shirt and he pressed his face against my neck, inhaling deeply. I pulled him closer. When his warmth started to lull me to sleep right where I was standing, I shuffled back in the direction of the bed. Duo followed me and we snuggled down beneath the blankets. He rolled onto his side, clutching my hand to his chest and I spooned up behind him, carefully arranging his braid so that I wouldn't pin it to the mattress during the night.

"Are you warm enough?" I whispered.

He nodded. His fingers tightened around my hand. A moment passed and then another. "I love you, too," he finally whispered back.

I pressed closer to him, molding my front to his back, and kissed his cloth-covered shoulder. "Ja," I breathed, choking on too many emotions to name, "I know."

* * *

NOTES:

What's with Trowa's sort-of-animosity toward Quatre? Well, I'm borrowing a teeny bit from the series here: Trowa is very reserved and guarded around Quatre when they first meet. (That's my impression, anyway, and only later does he develop a kind of faith in Quatre as a comrade-in-arms.) In this AU, poor Q-bean is encroaching on Trowa's "territory." Trowa doesn't want anyone to come between him and his best friend/boyfriend… not even a "harmless" pal.

What kind of work visa does Trowa get? To tell you the truth, I'm purposefully vague and creative on this point because immigration laws are so confusing (and I'm only talking about the US ones; I have no idea about the ones for the UK). For the purpose of this fic, I'm creating a special work visa called a journeyman's visa which works like an apprentice system. Trowa is too young and under-qualified to get a high priority work visa (and work visas can take months to process), so he'll be going to the UK and the US as an apprentice to Maxwell Limited. Once his education is complete (i.e., he gets his driver's license and GED and completes his job training, whatever that entails), he'll start working for the company. In this imaginary system, Duo (or a senior member of security from Maxwell Limited) will be Trowa's sponsor. All this will come up in later installments. For now, like Trowa and Duo, I just hand that whole mess off to the lawyers and let them deal with it. That's what I'm writing Duo's paying them for, anyway.

For the cathedral, I referred to Southwark Cathedral in London. It's not too grand like St. Paul's, which is exquisite according to the photos I found online. Wow. Anyway, in order for a funeral service to be held at Southwark Cathedral, you have to live in the parish and/or be a regular attendee. Let's just imagine that the Maxwells are church benefactors so they get perks like that.

My inspiration for the Maxwell family home near Colchester, Essex is linked in the notes on my livejournal at the end of this chapter. OMG. The photos of this manor are GORGEOUS. And it really is for sale. If only I had four million pounds…

If Duo's grief seems too short or lacking or confusing to you, I say: nice catch! There's a reason for why I've written Duo's grieving process the way I have and we will get there eventually.

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South African English terms and slang:

Aweh = hello, good-bye, yes

Befokken = insanely/fucking (as an adverb: "It's befokken early, man!")

Bokkie = a term of endearment (literally "little buck" or "doe") similar to "sweetheart" or "honey"

China = friend, buddy, pal, mate (UK)

Hooting = honking (a car horn)

…is it? = is used in place of "Is that so?"

Jol = a party, an event, a good time (among many other nuances)

Kerel = young man, boyfriend (once upon a time, it apparently meant "a policeman")

Las = to tell (especially, to tell someone to stop doing something because it's an obstacle)

Maat = friend, partner

Moegoe = an idiot, fool, buffoon, simpleton

Nooit = no way, never

Pavement = sidewalk

Press = to have sex

Robot = a traffic light

Siff = gross, disgusting, ugly

Skommel = to masturbate

Skort = a warning (as in, "watch out!" or "something's not right here")

Slops = flip-flops (i.e., rubber sandals)


	7. Appearances, Part 3

**Warnings:** language, shounen ai/yaoi (reference to male/male sexytiems), reference to character death, angst (duh)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

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Recommended music for _Appearances - Part 3_ - "Your Name Here (Sunrise Highway)" by Straylight Run

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If you're following this story on my livejournal, it has been posted in two separate posts there due to LJ's word-count-per-post limit. See "Appearances - Part 3: Death & Departure"

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**Appearances – Part 3** (Trowa POV... yet again)

"Do you ever think God is real?"

I glanced at Duo, a little surprised by this sudden and earnest question. Although, given where we were standing, perhaps I shouldn't have been. This small cemetery at the end of the wooded path exuded the kind of peace that produced profound thoughts.

"I suppose it depends on my luck at the time," I answered.

Duo chuckled. "So it's God and not Murphy's Law when everything that could go wrong goes freakin' nuclear?"

"No," I replied softly, feeling my way through a tangle of words. Duo had never asked me a question like this before and I didn't want to speak carelessly. I didn't want to make a joke of it even if he was comfortable straddling that line. I told him, "When one thing goes right, when there's one moment of perfection in the chaos, I wonder if God is out there. Maybe not saving us from absolute darkness, but reminding us that there's still light in the world."

Duo's equally cold hand gripped mine. "Wow. That's… deep." His lips curled into a sarcastic smile as he glanced from one grave plot to another.

"Deeper than six feet?" I could have asked but didn't. "What about you?" I probed, wondering if he was in the mood to talk or just absorb.

"I dunno," he said, closing his eyes and lifting his face up to the sunny sky. It was a beautiful morning, cold and crisp. In the shadows that clung to the trunks of the barren trees, frost still chilled the bark. I held onto his hand as if he was at risk of floating away with the high, white wisps of cloud. "God's supposed to deliver us, right? But we all end up here: in death."

I felt a chill dance over my skin beneath my borrowed sweater and trench coat. "So life is the aberration and death the destination?"

"Yeah," he agreed, surprising me. I hadn't said it so that he'd agree. I'd expected him to refute me; I'd hoped he'd push aside the darkness within him that was making him scheme these things. "Maybe the only god is the God of Death."

I wouldn't let him give in to such total despair without a fight. I challenged, "Then why was life created at all?"

He shrugged. "Because you can't have one without the other. When you think about it, death is the only thing that's really certain. Death always wins."

Hearing Duo speak this way was wrong. I felt it in depths I hadn't even suspected I had. Darkness like this should not have a foothold in a soul as pure as his. "If that were true," I argued back, "then there would be no point in goodness, in generosity or hope."

"Maybe there isn't."

Undeniably unsettled now, I took a moment to reply. "There is evidence to the contrary."

"Oh, I'm not saying that people aren't good or generous or whatever. I think we all have our moments – and genuinely good people are really out there – but I think it's because of them that we believe in a god who gives a damn about our lives." His grin widened and his lashes lifted. He stared up at the sky until I could see a sheen of tears form and trickle out of the corners of his eyes. The sun's glare was merciless even at this early hour. The breeze kissed the moisture half-dry, half-frozen on his skin.

He chuckled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling and cracking the crust of his tears. "Hah. It's funny when you think about it. We create God in our own image and then He remakes us in His."

He tilted his head down and swept his gaze over the headstones. Some were so worn they were barely legible. Others, like the pair we stood in front of now, still looked new.

I read the names and dates again:

_Helen Eliza Maxwell, beloved wife and mother, January 13, 1967 ~ June 24, 2004_

_Sherman Lionel Maxwell, darling son and brother, September 2, 1991 ~ June 24, 2004_

Only one headstone among the crowd _was _new. It had been placed beside Lady Helen Maxwell's. The grave behind it was empty; a cover had been tastefully arranged over it. In a few hours, a coffin would be resting here as a priest blessed the body, the soul, and ground into which the first would be interred. A few short hours… and then Duo would be in the presence of his father's form and figure for the very last time.

I studied the engraving on the stone. Each line and curve was sharp and dark with shadows this morning:

_Victor Townsend Maxwell, loving husband and father, October 6, 1949 ~ December 19, 2012_

This was Duo's family, united in death, leaving Duo one out. A line that Martins was fond of quoting came to me: _"The Lord giveth and He taketh away."_ Or was Duo right? Did we give each other hope in the darkness while God took the light from us, one by one, without respite or mercy? Could it be that the only thing God wanted from each and every one of us was our inevitable death? It was a disturbing thought to contemplate.

I was still grasping Duo's hand. We hadn't put on gloves before we'd come out here. My fingers were numb. I imagined his were, too. I tucked our joined hands into the pocket of the coat I was wearing. "We're not dead yet," I reminded Duo.

He chuckled. This time the sound was rueful. "Yeah. Sorry. That was pretty morbid, huh?"

"It's fine," I assured him. I didn't like hearing him apologize for what he was thinking and feeling. He did it far too often these days. "But I'm freezing my arse off."

He laughed. "Just wait until we get to New York!"

He swung me back toward the narrow drive and I let him. The English winter was colder than the ones I was used to, but I wasn't nearly as uncomfortable with the chill as I let on. What I was uncomfortable with was the sudden darkness bubbling up from within the man I loved.

"New York can't be that much colder than this," I remarked, egging him on, nudging him toward the kind of humor he excelled at.

"Whoa, baby," Duo replied, his strides rolling with the humor infusing him. "You have not yet _begun _to freeze your balls off."

"And just why am I agreeing to go there, again?"

"Because it's the American dream?"

"Castration via hypothermia?"

He actually stopped walking and barked out a laugh. It startled a couple of birds into flight from the scraggly boughs. "Oh—my—God—Trowa—" he panted.

"Ja?" I prompted, wondering if I dared insert a joke about how it was rude to keep the divine powers in suspense.

He shook his head in amazement. "You're the Alfred Pennyworth to my Bruce Wayne."

"Is that a good thing?" I could hazard a guess that it was even though I didn't recognize the names, but I knew he was waiting for me to check.

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Except you're better in every single category."

"Hm," I remarked, unsure of what to say to that.

"Younger," Duo volunteered.

I supposed that could be a good thing.

"Smarter."

Definitely a good thing.

"Sexier," he added brightly.

I glanced sideways at him. His cheeks were tinged pink and his nose was red. His lips were stretched into a wide smile and his eyes were sparkling. I didn't even stop to think about it; I swung _him _around, stepping back and using my grip on his hand to bring him crashing into my chest. I banded my other arm across his waist.

"Am I?" I asked, leaning in to brush the tip of my cold-numbed nose against his.

He nodded slowly, his humor fading into wide-eyed want. "So much I can't stand it sometimes."

That was encouraging. I smiled and brushed our noses together again, wondering if he'd take the initiative and kiss _me._ He hadn't been shy about doing so in Egypt, but he'd only kissed me twice since I'd seen him again: once in Vientiane on the day of our departure and once in London last night in the cathedral car park. I held him close and waited, breath held, plea at the ready.

And then he tilted his chin toward mine. Our lips touched, slid together, locked chastely in place. I exhaled, my bare fingers curling against the back of his jacket, finding no handholds to grasp. He pulled back and I had to force myself to stop following him. Our lips parted with a prickle that should have been a chill but was somehow hot and swift.

Duo made no move to step away. He studied my face. He smiled. He licked his lips and shifted toward me for a second time. He'd never kissed me like this before, using his breath and the gentle friction of skin on skin to warm my lips. He captured my lower lip between his, tugged, touched the tip of his tongue to the fullest part, even nipped at me with his teeth but he didn't invade my mouth. It was making me restless and hungry.

"Are you waiting for me to beg?" I demanded breathlessly.

"No," he breathed. "I don't want you to beg. Just… feel."

As if I could do anything else around him. He rendered me a slave to sensation. Sometimes it was all I could do to keep from touching him in public; I'd long since lost track of the number of times I'd nearly moaned softly when the wind had carried his scent to me; it took a monumental effort to restrain myself from rubbing against him as he lay next to me in bed at night. I would do virtually anything he wanted. If he wanted me to feel, I'd feel.

He settled his mouth against mine softly, as if these whispering touches were a language and he was offering up his secrets. The air was cold but there was heat rising up from the collars of our coats. The wind was crisp but his warm breath was soothing. His body was solid and immovable but my own hands were trembling.

A nudge, a brush, a nibble, and a delicate lick – just a taste – before he went back to the beginning and started all over again. There was no rush here outdoors in the middle of the lane. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed that we had all day. He tried my patience and given the fact that I'd been trained to stay perfectly still, camouflaged in wet, decaying jungle debris for hours at a time, that was saying something.

"Shh," he breathed, his eyes still closed and lips brushing against mine. "Let it go, Trowa. Let go."

I took a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling myself lean into him, allowing myself to trust him as he trusted me: with my entire being. I felt his fingers slide into my hair. His palm fit against the back of my head. I closed my eyes and I waited.

This time, when he kissed me, I didn't have to fight against myself. I gave myself to him. I followed his lead, kissed him back, conversed in that language of touch without the punctuation of a surging tongue or the plot development of roving hands.

He just… kissed me.

It was just a kiss but, somehow, when he eventually leaned away and I opened my eyes, I felt different. Despite the chill, I was warm. Despite my empty stomach, I was full. Despite our exposed position out on this country lane, I was at peace.

"You want a coffee?" he asked and, instead of shattering the moment, his voice cemented it.

I nodded.

"OK. Let's swing by Howie's place and hit him up for some coffee grounds that haven't been sitting in a cupboard since Queen Victoria died."

I chuckled.

"What?"

"You said 'cupboard'," I told him.

He laughed. "Well, _yeah._ Those really short, enclosed shelves with doors on the front are called 'cupboards'."

I kept Duo's hand, still grasped in mine, stuffed inside my pocket and sharing warmth as we walked back to the house and its annexes. If Duo didn't like it, he'd pull free. He never did.

In the light of day, the manor was imposing: four stories tall, an angular sprawl of brick and mortar. The windows were thick, deeply set, and the black leading set each pane apart like the faceted eyes of an insect. The whole place put me in mind of a great, red spider, crouching and bristling as we encroached on her territory.

I briefly considered sharing the analogy and grinned when I realized it would probably guarantee that Duo would never set foot on the property again.

"Why don't you like gogga – insects and things?" I asked him suddenly.

He looked at me, clearly startled by the random question. "Uh, because they're creepy? And they bite? And they crunch when you squish 'em? And then they come back from the dead when you're not looking, like little pincher-and-mandible-possessed zombies? Need I go on?"

I chuckled. "I mean, was there some traumatic event in your childhood involving a spider or a bug?"

"Oh, uh. I guess you could say that."

I watched him and waited for him to give in and tell me. I knew he would.

With a sigh, he did. "There was this one time Solo put crickets in my bed. He went around catching them in the evening and then dumped 'em between my sheets before bedtime while I was brushing my teeth."

"How old were you?"

"I dunno. Four? Five? Young enough to piss myself when they started crawling all over my toes in the Goddamn dark." He shook his head. "Be thankful you never had an older brother, man."

"That does seem excessively evil."

Duo grinned. "Ask me again – when, y'know, it's warm and we have a wrestling mat at our disposal – if I know how to fight."

I remembered posing that question to him back in Egypt. I made an attempt to bite back my smile. "I'm guessing one of you got a black eye or a bloody nose that night."

Duo chuckled. "More like both of us did. Mom was _pissed._ I think Dad wanted to take a picture for the family album… but I might not be remembering that right."

I laughed. Did he have any idea how amazing he was? I never laughed. Unless I was with him.

When we got to the front door of the gardener's cottage where Howard lived, we found a note waiting for us stuck in the door:

_I got coffee and you're both welcome to it, just don't wake an old man up._

"Christ. My dad once said Howard had to be psychic." Duo reached for the handle, pulling the note free as he opened the door. "But I'm still not sure it's all natural."

"Hm?" I asked.

"If he offers you brownies, don't eat 'em," he added cryptically.

The cottage was silent; the old groundskeeper and former pilot was likely still sleeping. Duo turned on the light in the cramped and windowless kitchen before investigating the contents of the pantry. He tossed a bag of Oreo cookies onto the small and scarred wooden table in the center of the room and reached for the coffeemaker.

"What are these?" I asked, poking the bag.

Duo grinned. "Those are safe eats. Factory sealed retail packaging is your best guarantee against mind-altering substances in _this _house."

"Mind-altering? Howard's got dagga in here?"

"Dagga?"

I pinched an imaginary cigarette between my fingertips and mimed taking a drag.

Duo grinned and pulled a sealed container of coffee grounds out of a cupboard. "Oh, yeah. I'd bet my braid on it. And if I ever find out where he's been growin' it, I'm gonna have to get all lord-of-the-manor on his skinny ass."

That was an interesting scenario to contemplate. Of course, any scenario involving Duo was one I'd take an interest in.

"You want it dirty?"

_Dirty? _I was more or less certain that I'd missed something here. "What?"

Duo grinned slyly at me over his shoulder. His fingertips danced over the countertop like he was performing a nocturne. I gripped the back of the nearest chair to keep from stalking over to him.

He tilted his head toward the coffeemaker. "You like it thick, right?"

I ignored the gesture. My gaze followed the line of his swaying braid down to his ass. If he'd been facing me, I would have been staring at his crotch. "Ja," I answered roughly, suddenly remembering the feel of him in my hand, the way my fingers had curled around his girth and measured his length. When I looked back up, his grin had faded. His lips were slack and his eyelids droopy. There was heat glittering in his eyes.

It was just as well we were in someone else's kitchen or I might have accepted the invitation, resolution to resist or no. I turned away to look for coffee cups. It was either that or imagine what I might have done in the manor house's kitchen if we'd been alone: I might have lifted Duo up onto that butcher's block, wrapped his legs around my waist as I pulled his head down for a kiss; I might have bunched up his sweater and T-shirt so I could suck his nipples and taste my way down his belly; I might have torn open the fastenings on his denims and—

"Hey," he said, his voice rough and tinged with apology.

I didn't want his apology. I braced myself in the cupboard doorway. I didn't trust myself enough to turn around.

"If I ever…" My voice encountered an undetected obstacle in my throat. I had to stop and start over again. "If I ever do something – touch you – and you don't like it, I want you to stop me."

"Tro," he began, his tone as unsteady as mine, "that – you doin' something like that and me asking you to stop – that's never gonna happen."

I curled my fingers around the edge of the wooden cupboard door. He didn't say anything else and I waited until I could hear him fiddling with the coffeemaker again before I let out the breath I'd been holding and finally made myself examine the cupboard's contents.

I pulled down two coffee cups that were stashed in the back; it was less likely that they were Howard's favorites. I rinsed them out with hot water and set them on the counter for Duo to fill. The pot of coffee he'd just brewed was gone and the machine was percolating again.

"Twice brewed," Duo explained. "You brew a pot and then put in fresh grounds and run the coffee through a second time. It's called 'dirty coffee'."

Ah. "Cream or sugar?" I asked.

"Nah," he answered softly and in a somber tone, "not right now."

And I somehow knew that he wasn't just saying no to coffee condiments.

"I gotta get my head cleared out," he added, still not speaking of coffee.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, hating that my control was so weak. With the right push, Duo could get me to act on my impulses and go against the vow I'd made to myself during the flight to Heathrow: Duo needed to make his own choice as to if (or, dare I hope, _when)_ he wanted me. I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I let him manipulate me into taking that decision out of his hands.

"No, _I'm _sorry," he replied quietly. "I just… I'm all over the frickin' map. You're ninety-nine kinds of awesome for putting up with my shit."

I drew a breath, uncertain of how to respond to that.

He kept on talking, "I do want you. In the worst way. Literally." He sighed. His hands curled around the edge of the counter. "That's why I can't… But I just can't help myself sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I heard myself echo pathetically.

He laughed. It was harsh and self-depreciating even as it was soft. We were both mindful of Howard's presence somewhere in the small house.

"Tro, trust me when I tell you that I don't say even _half _the things I could."

I took half a step closer to him and our elbows brushed. "Like what?" I murmured at his hair. I glimpsed his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.

"I don't wanna tease you."

So he _was_ aware that he was doing it. "Then tell me something real." I needed something to hold onto if I couldn't hold onto him the way I wanted to.

He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm yours," he told me. "One-hundred percent. I know you know that."

Finally, he turned his gaze and looked at me. "Ja," I replied. "I know it." And so did he; he _knew _how he felt about me, that he wanted me, that he wanted to be mine. That was what I'd been waiting to hear.

I reached out and slid an arm around his waist. "We look after each other," I reminded him.

This time, when he smiled, it was subdued but happy. He poured out our coffee into the mugs and we took seats across from each other at Howard's table.

"How do these dunk?" I asked, gesturing to the bag of cookies, and Duo gave me a grateful look.

"Let's find out!"

He tore open the plastic packaging and deftly caught two Oreos between his fingertips before they could roll out onto the tabletop.

I picked up one for myself and examined it as Duo held one suspended in the steaming, black brew in his cup. I watched as he retrieved it, gave it a cautious nibble, and then popped the whole thing in his mouth. He gave me a wink and a thumbs up.

With an endorsement like that, I was virtually required to give it a go. A tentative dunk and a hap later, I decided that Oreos and dirty coffee were best consumed separately.

Duo rolled his eyes but didn't try to haggle me into giving the combination a second chance.

As I crunched through another Oreo and Duo dunked his with care, I inquired, "What's going to happen in New York?"

He answered without reservation: "Marshall – Mr. Noventa – is gonna need to sit down with you and talk about the conditions of your visa. The way he explained it to me, it was like an apprenticeship with the company so you need the equivalent of a guarantor – someone who's gonna be responsible for you while you're in the States – and I dunno who that's gonna be."

"You didn't ask?"

"He didn't get back to me on it before we left for Laos," he explained. "And, anyway, you might have some leeway in choosing. There's no sense in assigning you a guarantor from Security if you decide you'd rather work in Legal Affairs."

I flinched with shock. "Like a lawyer?"

Duo gave me a guileless, wide-eyed look. "Yeah."

No. "Impossible."

Duo shook his head. "Nothing's impossible once you get your GED, Tro."

I stared at him.

"I've looked up the schools that offer GED prep courses," he continued as I marveled. "And I think we'd better get you your driver's license first – I've still got all my notes and stuff from my driver's ed course, so I'll teach you when we get back – and then you can drop me off at school in the mornings and head over to your classes."

He took a long swallow of coffee and then, with a grimace, dived back into the Oreo bag for two more cookies to dunk.

"There's a lot of homework and school stuff I couldn't send you," he told me, "so I figure that on the days I'm working and at practice, you could have a tutor come over. I know someone in the building – real nice lady, a med student whose husband is—"

"Work?" I parroted. "Practice?"

He bit his lip and looked away. "Uh, yeah. I work at a supermarket a couple nights a week. Or, I used to, anyway." He scowled darkly. "Now I'm probably gonna have company monkeys breathing down my neck about stock options or some shit." He shook himself. "Anyway, no way are they gonna screw with the team practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That's where I draw the line."

"Team?" I probed.

He looked down at his coffee cup. "Uh… swim team," he mumbled.

I felt faint. How strange. I opened my mouth. When nothing came out, I closed it, licked my lips, took a breath, and opened it again. Still, nothing came out.

"You're probably wondering why I never mentioned this before," he guessed.

He'd guessed incorrectly. I was picturing him powering through the water, his muscles rippling beneath his flawless skin. I was imagining the way his biceps would flex and his thighs would bunch as he hauled himself out of the pool. And then there was the scanty swimwear he likely wore—

"Earth to Trowa?" he called.

I blinked at the hand he was waving in front of my face.

"Here, have a cookie," he said, offering me the one pinched between his middle and ring fingers. I took it, still feeling breathless and numb. "Don't feel bad."

"What?"

"Er… don't be angry?" he tried again.

I was still equally confused.

"…that I've been workin' to, y'know, save up money and pay for… um, stuff?"

My brain was starting to function again. I thought of the cell phone he'd given me. "Stuff? Like cell phone service contracts?"

"Uh, yeah."

I thought of all the text messages I'd sent him that he'd responded to hours later with an apologetic sorry-I-forgot-to-charge-my-phone-I'm-a-moron-how-are-you? It had been happening at least twice a month – usually on his Friday nights – ever since we'd started keeping in touch almost daily. Once or twice, I'd wondered if he was seeing someone, but he'd never given me any indication of that. Whenever I'd gotten up the nerve to subtly inquire about his friends, he'd mentioned a girl named Hilde (who was dating another girl named Dorothy) but he'd never talked about anyone else. And then three weeks ago, when he'd invited me to live with him, when he'd feared I was about to break up with him… Ja, I'd been surprised, relieved, and vindicated. In that order. I mean, he'd always been enthusiastic to hear from me and I'd known he cared about me and I'd prayed that our friendship meant to him what it meant to me, but all those times I'd tried to reach him and he'd been unavailable had made me think that maybe…

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, pulling his arm toward me. His jacket sleeve rode up his pale forearm and I placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. He gasped.

"You should have told me," I murmured.

"I didn't want you to stop texting me," he rasped in reply. "I thought you might if you found out I was working part-time to pay the bill for it."

I looked up at him through my brows. "I couldn't have stopped." I was addicted to him. To prove this, I opened my mouth and pressed the tip of my tongue to the blue shadow of the vein in his wrist before kissing the same spot and exhaling over the damp skin. His fingers twitched and he shifted tellingly in his seat.

"Hmm, Trowa…" he breathed.

I drew the tip of my nose up his hand and nipped the base of his thumb.

"You boys better not be dunkin' anythin' else 'cept them Oreos."

Duo jerked.

My fingers tightened reflexively around his arm before I hastily released him. We both looked up and there was Howard standing in the doorway in a bright green bathrobe with what looked like white and black llamas printed all over it. He was still wearing the shades and slops.

"Jesus, Howard," Duo complained. "Hell of a way to say good morning."

He ignored the jab. "You boys better get tested before you go in for a lay-up an' a slam dunk is all I'm sayin'," he lectured. "Too many diseases out there that'll kill ya, rot your brain, or make your pecker fall off."

Duo hid his face in his hands. "God, no. You are not trying to give us a sex talk. Fate would not be this cruel. This all a bad dream. I'm going wake up now and everything will be normal. K'thanks."

"This ain't a sex talk. It's a _smart _talk. And your daddy would kick my ass outta heaven if I let it go without sayin' a word."

"Was that the conclusion?" Duo checked, his tone pitching past hopeful and ito desperate. "I think that was the conclusion," he declared without waiting for a response. He stood up and pushed his chair in with a loud clatter. "Great speech, Howard. Thanks for the coffee."

"You leave me any?"

Duo pointed to the pot. "Smell it for yourself."

He sniffed the air. "Is it filthy?"

"Just garden-gnome-variety dirty."

Howard snorted with contempt and stomped over to the counter where he set about changing the coffee filters. Duo motioned me toward the door and I grabbed a couple of Oreos for the road before I followed him outside. I knew I ought to thank Howard for letting us drink his coffee, but it seemed too great a risk: there might be some other advice he'd remember to give us.

I glanced back as the door swung shut and glimpsed Howard pouring the brewed coffee back into the maker's kettle for a third round.

"That didn't happen," Duo assured me.

I passed him an Oreo. "I'm pretty sure it did." And I was pretty sure Howard'd had a valid point. We owed it to each other to get tested before we… ah, beforehand.

"No, don't turn into a realist on me now, Tro."

I waited until we'd gone into the house and reached the top of the stairs to reply. In the sitting room on the top floor, I reached under Duo's jacket hem and snagged one of his back pockets, hooking my index finger into the fold of denim and pulling him to a halt. "He's right, you know."

He didn't turn around and look at me. He sighed. "Yeah. I know."

I stepped up behind him. I knew I should be keeping my distance, but I just… couldn't. I slid an arm across his chest and hugged him to me, tracing the outer shell of his ear with my nose. He let out a breath and relaxed. I wrapped my other arm around his waist. I knew we had to get dressed; the hearse would be arriving soon along with the priest, but I didn't want to let him go. When this moment ended, grief would creep back into his eyes, lines of stress would dig trenches on either side of his lush mouth, an invisible weight would hunch his shoulders. I was compelled to drive those pains away from him even though I knew they were inevitable.

He leaned his head back against my shoulder. "Can you dance?" he asked suddenly.

"No." I spoke to the soft, fragrant skin of his neck.

"Ever tried?"

"No," I admitted.

"I think you'd be good at it."

"Hm." I didn't really care one way or the other if I was. "Are you?"

He shrugged. "Decent, I guess."

His modesty didn't fool me. I pressed my face against his neck as his fingertips danced over my scarred knuckles, tapping and caressing, dipping into the sensitive spaces between my fingers. "Stop it, damn you," I growled, clamping down on a wave of arousal.

"Hey, I'm just standing here minding my own business," he retorted playfully.

I sighed. "I'm not ready to let you go."

"I'm not going very far."

I knew that, but— "You're going to put on your mask again."

He didn't even pretend to misunderstand me. "You've got one, too."

"I despise both equally." Three years ago, I probably wouldn't have bothered confess to hating something. Emotions were felt, and then dealt with quietly and swiftly, like an enemy. Dwelling on them, examining them, and dissecting them was a waste of time and a distraction. From a mercenary's point of view, it was arguable that Duo was a bad influence on me.

He said, "You look pretty good in it, though."

So did he. He'd look better _out _of it, I was sure. "I almost don't recognize you when you're Dominic," I admitted.

His hands clutched mine. "But you _do_ recognize me."

I nodded. I had to listen past his perfect speech patterns, look beyond the perfect gentleman's posture, reach through his perfectly unreadable expression and _then_ I could find Duo looking back at me, _seeing_ me.

"Sometimes I think I could get lost in the role," he admitted.

"You won't," I promised. I wouldn't let him. But I knew it wouldn't come to that. Duo was more than strong enough to withstand the pressures of being his father's son while maintaining his personal integrity, his quirks and humor, his brilliance and generosity. "You're strong," I told him, pressing a kiss to his jaw and then forcing my arms to retreat from around his torso. He had more _gees_ than anyone I'd ever met.

I stepped back and glanced in the direction of my room and the suit I was destined to suffer at least one more time. Duo grabbed my hand before I could move in the direction of the door.

"Wear the tie I picked out?" he requested shyly.

Of course I would but, charmed as I was by his earnest expression, I hesitated too long.

"I'll owe you a kiss," he bargained.

I was too much of a mercenary to refuse. "Done," I agreed, trailing a fingertip over his lips in silent anticipation.

We parted ways. I was well-versed in donning a suit by now, but the tie was made from a slippery fabric that slithered its way into being too long or too short or thwarted me by collapsing into a too-small knot at the base of my throat.

Bugger and fuck.

As I was fumbling through my sixth attempt at tying the bloody thing, I heard the sounds of car tires on gravel. Glancing out the window, I spotted Howard as he emerged from his cottage in his suspenders and shirtsleeves. And sunglasses.

He gestured the arriving hearse toward the lane which led to the family graveyard and shook hands with the clergyman who climbed out of the passenger side of the car. I couldn't hear what they were saying but, as Howard invited the man into his home, he threw a pointed look up at my window.

I sidled out of view before I realized that my caution was unnecessary. Howard was clearly waiting for us to come down. And, as Duo was a master at the art of suit-wearing, it was probably just me and this fokken necktie that was holding everyone up.

I grabbed my suit jacket and the trench coat I suspected had once belonged to a young Victor Maxwell. As I charged out of my room, I yanked the substandard knot out of my tie. I'd conserve my patience for more worthy pursuits.

"Help," I growled.

Duo looked up from the stairway banister he was leaning nonchalantly against and his gaze zoomed right to the enemy I hadn't been able to subdue.

He flashed me a charmingly crooked smile. "OK, but it's gonna cost ya."

"Add it to my tab." I doubted I'd notice if he actually collected on it.

Chuckling warmly, he made quick work of the necktie, handing the slippery silk with skill and dexterity that would surely be useful in a variety of other activities. I gritted my teeth and focused on holding still.

"What's the damage?" I couldn't help asking as he surveyed me with eyes that were sparkling with appreciation.

His fingers nudged the knot neatly into my collar. Snug, but not confining.

"Whoa no," he objected. "I'm keepin' this one in reserve."

As if he'd need to. It amused me to think he needed the guarantee. After all of the things he'd given me – assistance with a doff necktie the _least _among them – how could he ever think that I'd outright refuse him anything he asked of me?

He pivoted smartly, looking exceptionally pleased with himself, and started down the wooden steps. I followed his lead back to Howard's place and stood back while he knocked on the door. Introductions were made, hands were shaken, condolences offered, and then we set a course for the cemetery where the hearse had been parked.

"The four of us should be able to manage," the driver announced upon our arrival as he opened the back door of the car. It occurred to me then that we'd have to transport the coffin to the gravesite. "If you'll navigate us, Father?" the man continued, excusing the elderly priest from manual labor.

I wracked my brain for an excuse to exclude Duo; it was unjust that he would have to help carry his own father's coffin. But, before I could think of another task for him to perform, he reached for the nearest handle, grasping it with white-knuckled determination. His eyes were dark again and his mouth pinched into a thin, tense line. A frown of pain drew his brows low. He looked so determined now. Desperate. If only pure will had been enough to save his father. If that had been possible, Duo would have managed it. Of that I had no doubt at all.

I grasped the handle opposite Duo. Howard and the driver took the remaining two at the other end of the coffin. The priest guided us over to the platform which had been set up. We pretended we didn't see the sail-covered mound of earth just a few paces away.

The priest said his piece. I was too busy trying not to smother Duo with my concern to really pay attention to the blessings and ceremony.

"Would anyone like to say a few words?" I dimly heard him invite.

Howard stepped forward and the sound of his raspy voice surprised me enough to tear my sidelong gaze away from Duo's still-dry and unfocused eyes.

"VT was one of them quiet ones," he informed everyone present, the coffin included. "An' you know what they say 'bout the quiet ones. It was true in his case. Smart guy. Loyal. Hell, he had my back more times than I can count, more times than he should've. That's how he got the scar on his jaw. Took a punch meant for me in a bar fight." Howard chuckled. "Those were the days…"

I listened, tracking Duo's every breath.

"He was in the Glee Club at school. And theater. I saw him once in a local showing of _Romeo and Juliet._ I think he was that Mercutio guy. He was good. Real good. Gave it up when his daddy died. He was a damn good businessman, but he was one hell of an actor."

Howard spoke more, occasionally covering up a lump in his throat with a dry cough. I watched Duo as Howard talked about the man his father had been before Duo had been born. Strangely enough, I could reconcile Howard's memories with the man I'd seen at the dig site in Egypt. I hadn't been able to integrate the version of him that his associates had lauded the evening before in London, but a hell-raiser, a charmer, an artist… these meshed rather than conflicted with my own impressions.

It was only when the priest acknowledged the speech with a soft "Thank you, Mr. Schatz" that I realized he'd stopped speaking. I glanced up. Howard was staring at me. I couldn't see his eyes through his black-lensed sunglasses, but I could feel his gaze boring into me.

I didn't have to glance at Duo to know he wouldn't volunteer. I cleared my throat, feeling oddly obligated to speak. Not because Howard was silently insisting, but because I'd been there when Duo's father had died, because I was partly responsible for his death, because Duo had loved him and I loved Duo and there was part of that man inside him. I could see that and I think Duo had a right to see it, too.

"Lord Victor Maxwell and I were never formally introduced," I began. "I remember when I saw him for the first time. He was confident, distinguished, cultured."

I paused to swallow, to gather my thoughts, to remember the unsent text message on my cell phone. Drawing a deep breath, I angled my chin toward Duo, speaking to him. "I knew him through his son."

Duo looked up and met my gaze.

I continued, "I knew he had to be an extraordinary man to inspire so much love and devotion in someone like Duo: wild, charming, independent, brilliant, generous."

He stared at me, his eyes wide with amazement. I offered him a shy smile. He truly was all those things. They'd been there, lounging on that bough with him when he'd startled me that night at the excavation site. I hadn't known what to make of him then but, little by little he'd let me in on his secrets, his enigmas, his world. There was more I could say, but it was for his ears alone.

A long moment passed before Duo took a deep breath. He opened his mouth. I wondered if he was ready to speak of his father's passing now, if he was ready to let him go.

His gaze didn't waver from mine.

"Take me back to the house," he rasped.

Uncaring of our audience, I tucked him up tight against my side. He was shivering but I knew it wasn't from the air which, despite being nicely toasted by sunshine, was clinging to its chill with dogged persistence. I wondered if this was it: was this the moment when grief shattered him? I waited for it, holding onto him tightly, taking the journey back to the house one measured step at a time down the lane and then past the enormous stables complex.

But when we reached the back door of the manor, Duo stopped in his tracks. "I feel like driving," he announced and waited for me to relent. I loosened my arm around him and we walked over to the car. Duo dug his keys out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the doors with the remote. He then forgot to put his seatbelt on before putting the car in gear and tearing down the driveway.

"Duo, stop," I said as we approached the main road.

He lifted his foot off the gas with obvious reluctance and applied the brake. He had to step on it in order to keep the nose of the car from edging out onto the winding, country road. There was no traffic that I could see or hear, but there might have been.

"What?" he asked, strangling the steering wheel. He was clearly irritated that I'd interrupted his high octane getaway.

I reached across him and, grasping his seatbelt, I drew it over his body and inserted the tab into the buckle, waiting until I felt it catch before I lifted a hand to his jaw. "We look after each other," I reminded him, urged him to trust me to catch him.

He blew out a breath and a smile wobbled across his lips. "Makin' sure I don't do anything stupid… that's a full-time job, Tro."

"How's the pay?"

"Hah! What are you, a mercenary or somethin'?"

"Or something," I replied wryly.

"Yeah," Duo agreed, catching my fingers before my hand could fall away from his face. "You're somethin', all right."

He needed both hands for driving, otherwise I would have kept our fingers tangled on the armrest between the seats.

"You have any requests for lunch?" he asked as he pulled out onto the road and shifted into second gear.

"Someplace quiet," I said. We found a pub along the side of the road just outside Colchester that had a single car out front and a chalkboard announcing the daily specials propped up next to the door. Duo pulled in and parked.

The pub was very quiet. So quiet that when Duo's cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, I could hear it.

"Yeah, Howard?" he murmured, not bothering to get up from our table and excuse himself from the general public. The only other customer was an older guy at the far end of the bar who was nursing a beer and watching some old black and white movie on the communal telly.

"Did we leave you guys shorthanded?" Duo asked.

He could only be speaking of the burial itself. I concealed a wince behind my hair.

"Oh. No, that's fine. Tell the crew to go ahead. I'm sure they've got other things to do today."

It was a relief that Duo wouldn't be asked to _bury _his father on top of everything else.

"Damn it, Howard, it's _fine,"_ he hissed and I wondered at the lecture the old man was giving him now. "We'll see ya later."

He hung up, probably cutting Howard off midsentence.

"Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled. Then he went a step further and shut his phone off before sliding it back into his pocket.

I tapped my fingers against the side of my glass of club soda, scheming a way to suss out exactly what Howard must have said. The last thing I wanted was a gavtol Duo on my hands. In the end, I just decided to ask.

"What was that about?"

Duo shrugged and glared at the telly. "Man, old age makes people think they can get away with all kinds of shit."

"Hm?" I prompted as neutrally as possible.

"Other people have a life, y'know. Schedules. They can't wait around all damn day."

I grunted just to see if he'd volunteer anything else.

"It's a wonderful life," he said, almost sneering at the program being broadcast. "They show this damn thing every freakin' year. I bet Jimmy Stewart never saw the royalties when he was alive."

"The movie?" I guessed.

"You haven't seen it?"

I shook my head. "You've seen it too many times?"

"Yeah. I even know useless trivia about it. Hey, let's go into town for marshmallows after this."

Sometimes, having a conversation with Duo was like trying to dodge bullets from a machine gun. "Marshmallows?"

He nodded. "We can start a fire and toast us some marshmallows later. You ever had smores?"

"Which are?"

He described them as graham cracker and melted marshmallow sarmies – "Of course, you gotta add chocolate 'cuz that just makes 'em awesomer" – and I had to admit that it was a food I was unfamiliar with.

The hot ham sarmies we'd ordered for lunch here were good, and we'd both opted for chips instead of crisps to go with them, but the way Duo was clinging to every topic except his father's funeral made me think that he'd refortified his trench of denial. Bugger. With the mental equivalent of a sigh, I gave in.

"Quatre Reberba Winner," I announced, wondering if he could think as fast on his feet when he was on the receiving end of a sudden topic change.

He arched a brow at me. "Uh, my name's _Duo,_ in case you've forgotten."

I kicked him under the table. "Har har."

He smirked.

"Are you going to make me ask?"

"Naw, I wouldn't do that to ya," he answered, wiping his mouth with his serviette and clearing his throat. "But I'll warn ya: Quatre's story is _out there._ I mean, whoa. Like, only a king of a small country in the Middle East could pull off this shit."

Still chewing on a hap of ham, I gave Duo a look, urging him to get to the point.

Duo grinned. "Right. OK. Quatre: the poor guy's got twenty-nine older sisters."

I almost choked. "The sheikh has a harem?" I guessed after I'd successfully swallowed.

"Hm, that's one word for it." Duo leaned back in his chair and picked up a slice of fried potato. "See, once upon a time there was this Qatari prince who had an older sister who was made of awesome. She wanted to go into medicine and become a surgeon, but their father pretty much told her that if she didn't marry the husband he'd picked out for her, he'd disown her and she'd never see her brother again."

"Harsh," I commented.

Duo didn't disagree. "So, she stayed, got married, and then tried to use her husband and father's connections to start a movement for women's rights. That's probably what got her killed."

"By whom?"

Pursing his lips, he speculated, "Probably her father. Possibly her husband. That's what everyone assumes, anyway."

I didn't have a response to that. I'd heard of similar occurrences in Africa: there were stories about women who had somehow shamed their households and been sent away… or simply disappeared. I summarized, "So, Sheikh Reberba Winner is out for vengeance?"

"Hm, yeah. I like the sound of that. Vengeance." Duo rolled the word on his tongue, purring it until it hissed between his teeth.

I braced myself for a reemergence of that unsettling darkness that had possessed him earlier. But all was calm on that front.

He merely picked up the thread of the story again. "After his old man died, he met and married Katrine du Monde – Quatre's mother. She grew up in Saudi Arabia where her father was the Ambassador to France, so she'd seen a lot of women like the sheikh's sister and she was all for changing the system, but even a king and queen can't just, y'know, _order_ society to change and everything's suddenly hunky-dory. So they brought something like a dozen surrogate mothers into the royal family – as a kind of harem – and they ended up with twenty-nine daughters."

"Twenty-nine girls?" I checked. "That can't be chance."

Duo nodded in agreement, tapping the potato slice he was still holding against the edge of his plate. "Yeah. That's where things get weird. Nobody's got any proof, but everyone's pretty sure it was deliberate. Lotsa people think that's unethical. Y'know, using medical technology to dictate the gender of your own children."

I'd never thought about it before and I was surprised to realize that the concept bothered me: what if my own mother and father – whoever they were or had been – had engineered me to be a girl? Growing up an orphaned female in war-torn southern Africa would have been—

I twitched my chin to the side just to shake the thought out of my head.

"But, controversial as it is," Duo continued, "it seems to be working. At least as long as the sheikh is in power. His daughters are all over the upper echelons of Qatari society: I think one's a university president, there are a couple of expert surgeons, an ambassador or three, company executives in the petroleum and banking sectors… you name it and there's a Winner heiress in charge of it."

I felt my eyes narrow as I did the math. "They're all significantly older than Quatre?"

"Yup. I guess his father decided he needed a male heir after all. Y'know, to take over some day. He probably figured that having a son would be the best way to instill his political views in his successor so that all his hard work wouldn't be undone by the next sheikh."

"That's cold," I observed.

Duo shrugged. "I've only met the sheikh once – at a business meeting last year – and he seemed like a decent guy. Besides, I'm only passing on what I've heard. I'm not surprised that it sounds so calculated. Gossip puts that kinda spin on things. But Quatre's a great guy. No way could a heartless sonuvabitch raise a kid like that."

My fingers started to curl into fists atop the table. I forced back the surge of jealousy. "You two spoke for a long time at the airport in Bangkok," I remarked, probing deeper.

"Yeah, a little over an hour. He's different from what people say about him, but I guess that's true for almost anyone who's a household name." Duo dragged the abused chip through the dollop of ketchup and started stamping chip-shaped, ketchup prints around the rim of the plate. "Yeah. Nice guy. Not so interested in being a sheikh and running an IT company. He's studying information systems and robotics in Paris."

Duo's eyes unfocused and his mouth curved into a smile. "I kinda wonder what it would take to get him to intern with the company this summer. Maybe in the R&D engineering division."

I decided that I did not like that wistful smile on Duo's face when he thought of Quatre Reberba Winner. I didn't like it at all.

"Hey," Duo suddenly said, pulling me back to the here and now and away from the dark alleys of my mind where I was lying in wait for the interloper in my territory to wander past. "That's something else you could do if you wanted."

"Have a harem?" I heard myself say out of petty spite.

Duo just laughed. "No, man. Engineering. Or research stuff. I never asked what you were interested in."

I just shook my head; it was impossible for the darkness in me to linger for long in the face of his humor-filled eyes and the smile that was now just for me.

"Never thought about it." Nor could I answer the question he was indirectly asking; I didn't know my preferences when it came to work. It was a shock to realize that I was precisely where Duo had warned me I'd be if I'd been born into a family like his: here I was faced with the rest of my life and I didn't know what I wanted to do with it. I actually had to make a choice. The field was wide open and it made me feel exposed and vulnerable.

"Hm," Duo hummed. "We may have to hit up Hollywood for some reference material." At my pointed look, he elaborated, "Movies: the window into the ideal world of professional development. Most of it's crap, but it should give you some general ideas about your options. I'll add regular movie nights to our agenda."

"After driver's education sessions?"

"Yup. Speaking of which, I don't think it'll take long for you to study up for the written test. And as long as you stay on the right side of the road and manage a decent parallel parking job, the course should be a breeze. Maybe two weeks, tops, and you'll be cruising the streets of New York, trading insults with the cabbies from Zimbabwe or Nicaragua or wherever."

The image was amusing for all of one second until it occurred to me that I might like driving enough to choose that for a career. If I were Duo's driver, I'd go wherever he went. But, no. Once he got on a plane, I'd be stuck in New York until he got back. I didn't want to limit my time with him that way. As his assistant, however, I'd go where he went and I'd be close enough to keep an eye out for Khushrenada, but I was assuming that Duo would give up his dreams and devote his life to the company, just like his father had. I couldn't let myself start thinking that way and neither could he.

"Duo," I said softly. He looked up from connecting the ketchup dots to each other, like he was outlining the constellations. "You can do what you want, too. Go to school for Egyptology."

He didn't say anything for a moment. I watched his throat work as he swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, that's still the plan."

"What can I do?" I offered.

He grinned ruefully. "Find me a kick ass CEO?"

He'd meant it as a joke, but… "Could I do something like that? Be a CEO?"

Duo gaped at me with complete and utter shock and amazement. I couldn't recall ever seeing that particular expression on his face. It was oddly gratifying. "You would…? For me?"

I would die for him. Being a CEO might be a fate worse than death, but I'd do my best if that was what he needed from me. I nodded.

He hauled in a breath, forced it out, blinked several times; he looked shaken. "Damn, Tro. _Damn."_

I waited, braced for his response. Eventually, he gave it.

"I don't have any doubt that you could kick ass at any job you wanted, but no," he said, shaking his head, "I'm not gonna saddle you with that mess of headaches."

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"You're gonna do something that you wanna do," he promised me, "not something you could do… or something you wanna save me from."

I leaned forward. "Just promise me you won't let yourself give up on what _you _want."

"I'm not givin' up," he swore, his grin sly and slightly crooked. "That's not my style."

I knew it for a fact, but it sounded even better when he said the words aloud.

As he paid the bill, Duo hit up the pub master for directions to a grocer's. When we got there, the store was so deserted we could hear the pair of on-duty clerks exclaiming over the scandalous engagement of someone I'd never heard of to someone else I'd never heard of. They were probably famous actors or singers. I didn't care enough to ask Duo.

"Toss in whatever jumps out at ya," Duo invited as a bag of jumbo marshmallows plopped into the shopping basket. He added a box of graham crackers, a package of fat sausages, some stainless steel kebab skewers, a bag of tortilla chips, and a jar of salsa before he pointed us down the beverage aisle.

He then stood and looked at me expectantly. Oh. I supposed it was my turn. I selected a two-liter bottle of water. Duo rolled his eyes. I kept the water and grabbed something that looked toxic. Duo grinned. Mission: accomplished.

Howard was waiting for us when we got back to the house, scowling darkly. "You turned your phone off," he accused.

"Yup," Duo agreed, hauling the shopping bags out of the back and heading for the door without pause.

Howard reached me before I could make my way around to the other side of the car. "You flying back tomorrow?"

I didn't know. "Duo?" I called.

"Yup," he repeated and slammed his way into the manor.

Howard sighed. "You gonna be hangin' around for a while there, Trowa?"

"Around Duo?"

He nodded.

"Ja." I braced myself for an ultimatum.

"Good."

I blinked. Howard's approval was welcome and unexpected given that I was sure public opinion would be the polar opposite.

"He ain't said goodbye to his daddy," he informed me. "Sooner 'r later, he's gonna regret that."

"Ja," I agreed.

"Don't ya be lettin' him blame _you_ for it. Y'hear?"

I responded with a nod, unsettled by Howard's keen observations and moved by his concern. I held out my hand. "Thanks for the coffee and the Oreos and… earlier," I generalized.

He nodded. "He don't need a babysitter, mind, but look after Duo, eh?"

Nothing short of death would stop me. We shook on it and I headed inside. Following the bangs and splashes, I found Duo in the kitchen washing up our pans from the night before. He was still wearing his suit. The sleeves were pushed up his arms and bunched up above his elbows. His braid swished to and fro along with his movements.

_Befokken lekker._

I distracted myself by flattening and folding up the emptied plastic shopping bags that had been tossed onto the butcher's block.

"It's too early for dinner," Duo remarked randomly.

"Ja."

"But we could bring some wood upstairs for a fire."

I shrugged.

He handed me a dripping saucepan and a towel. "This'll go faster if you dry."

So I dried.

There was a woodpile just outside the kitchen door. Duo loaded up a heavy, mesh bag and then introduced me to the manor's dumbwaiter. "Damn, I probably won't fit in this thing now."

"Were you hoping to?"

He chuckled. "Nah. I was just remembering the last time I was here. I thought this thing was the coolest gizmo ever."

As far as dinges went, it was fairly convenient. Using the archaic pulley system, we sent the kindling up to the fourth floor.

"Is it just me or have these stairs multiplied since we arrived?" Duo asked me on the third landing.

"I wasn't paying attention," I admitted.

"Watching my ass again?"

"It's a very nice arse."

He laughed.

Duo invited me down to his room with a nod in that direction. He didn't ask me what my room had looked like when I was a kid; he had to have guessed that I'd never had one. His was captivating. There were model cars and wooden dinosaur skeleton models. There was a kite that had an illustration of a Japanese samurai on it tacked to the wall and a pennant for the New York Yankees not half a meter away. There was a telescope and an empty terrarium, a basketball and a pair of boy's roller skates.

"What used to be in here?" I asked, stopping by the grungy aquarium and tapping the dusty glass.

"A turtle that I caught down by the pond. Never warmed up to me."

I found that hard to believe. Duo could charm anything, man or beast.

He said, "Had to release him back into the wild before the end of the summer."

"Did you come here every year?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said. "Up until I was seven. Then we started taking more trips to see dig sites and ruins and stuff."

I poked my head in a door that was slightly ajar. "Now this is a closet," I told him, nudging the opening wider with the toe of my shoe. Clearly, it served as a wardrobe, but it was large enough to be its own room.

Duo chuckled. "It was a good size for building forts."

"Forts?"

"Yeah." He reached up over my head and grabbed an old blanket off the shelf. The next thing I knew, Duo was directing me to tie a corner of it over the hangar bar and, ten minutes later, I was sitting on the pillow-strewn floor of our "fort" – still wearing my suit – as Duo rummaged through a box for flashlights and comic books.

We spent the afternoon hiding from the universe, kicking our stockinged feet together as we lay, side-by-side on our bellies and elbows, paging through one comic after another.

"So that's Hawkeye," I observed at one point, eying the illustration critically. I remembered when Duo had called me by that name, but I couldn't see a resemblance.

"Yup."

"I've never used a bow and arrow."

"So?"

"What do we have in common?" I certainly wasn't a super hero. Not in any version of events.

Duo grinned. "His name's Barton."

"No."

"Oh, yeah."

I scoffed. "Coincidence."

"Maybe," he drawled.

After the sun had set and our bellies had started growling for attention, we wrestled the kindling onto the hearth and manhandled the fireplace flue open. Duo found a pack of matches and I got the fire going while he contemplated the dimensions of the dumbwaiter.

Suspecting what he was scheming, I said, "Take your cell phone. You can call and tell me when you get stuck."

"So you can come down and help me get unstuck?" he guessed innocently.

"Right. After I get done laughing my arse off and taking photos."

"Would you really do something that heartless?"

I chuckled darkly.

"Huh," Duo remarked. "'Nuff said."

If he was going to do something as doff as contort himself into a confined space, then I was never going to let him forget about it.

"Maybe after I attain my yoga mastery," he muttered as he started down the stairs to retrieve our provisions from the kitchen on the first floor. God, he was such a goof. Besides, laughing at him was safer than letting myself imagine what I'd do with his post-yoga-mastery, limber body.

Duo sent up the groceries in the dumbwaiter and then huffed and puffed with comical exaggeration back up the stairs. We changed out of our suits and set up camp in front of the hearth in the sitting room. While the sausages were sizzling on their skewers over the fire, I fiddled with a wooden crocodile skeleton model that I'd spotted – still in the box – on a shelf in Duo's room. The fourth or fifth time I'd glanced at it, Duo had reached up, blown the dust off of the cover, and tossed the thing to me.

"Knock yourself out, man," he'd invited with a grin.

I'd never built a toy model of anything before so, more than once, Duo called my attention and gestured the right way to detach the individual parts from the wooden sheet. Mostly, though, he just watched me fumble through it, taking one swig after another from his bottle of carbonated poison. I stuck to water.

I didn't realize I was smiling until he offered to hold various pieces of the model's backbone in place while I applied the glue. We exchanged grins in silence interspersed with the crackling of the fire, the popping of the splitting wood, and the sizzling of fat-dripping sausages. When the crocodile was finished, I set it on the raised brick hearth and said to Duo, "You name it."

"It is a he or a she?" he asked, not the least bit surprised by my ridiculous request.

"She," I replied, contrarily choosing the opposite of my first inclination.

"Hmmm… Mildred," he decided and I laughed.

We ate our way through the sausages, munched on the chips, and dripped salsa on our pant legs. "How old are we, again?" I checked as Duo poked and giggled at the newest addition to my increasingly tomato-sauce splattered cargo pants. He claimed the stain was in the shape of a bunny rabbit.

"No idea. Why? Is it important?"

"Not really," I admitted.

He taught me how to make smores. I preferred them without chocolate.

Duo wasn't deterred, however. "In no time at all, we'll have your sugar tolerance built up."

That was not something I was particularly hoping to achieve and I told him so.

"Dude. We're flying to America tomorrow afternoon. America – land of the processed, artificial-colors-and-preservatives-added carbohydrate. It's, like, inevitable."

"Bugger," I muttered, rotating the marshmallow I was roasting with precision. I could only assume that Duo was as trim and fit as he was because his body was accustomed to metabolizing that kind of kak. "When I weigh a hundred and fifty kilos, does that mean I'll get a shot at playing American football?"

Duo laughed. "Baby, I'm gonna keep you so damn busy, you're not gonna have the chance to find out."

I felt myself blush in response to his wide, sexy smile. "Promises, promises," I muttered, my heart beating fast and my palms sweating.

Duo lifted his half-empty bottle of Mr. Pibb and proposed a toast, "To following through on promises."

I bounced the neck of the bottle of water against his not-cold cooldrink.

"Hey, what time is it?" he asked suddenly but gently.

I checked my wristwatch. "It's just gone midnight," I told him.

He sat his beverage bottle down and leaned across the distance between us. Feathering my hair out of my face, he breathed against my lips as I sat there spellbound, "Merry Christmas, Trowa."

"Is it?" I asked.

"Yeah," he answered and then he kissed me. It was brief, hot, and only momentarily deep. Just a taste.

When he pulled away, I smiled wryly. "That Mr. Pibb stuff is siff," I told him.

He chuckled. "And here I thought it'd taste decent coming from me."

I had no doubt it was an improvement, but it still tasted like kak. "Try that again after you gargle and brush," I murmured, speaking against the corner of his warm, smiling mouth.

"Roger that, Major Trowa."

When the fire burned down, I collected all the empty wrappers and tucked them in a rubbish bag for disposal in the morning. The skewers, with their charred and sticky barbs, we left beside the hearth. Duo stood and held out a hand which I took. He pulled me upright.

"Any objections if I jump into my PJs and meet you in your room?" he whispered.

I shook my head. "None."

Ten minutes later, Duo crawled beneath the covers beside me and gave me a proper goodnight Christmas kiss. I groaned as his body heat seeped into me. I tried to ignore how very much I liked the feel of his weight pressing against my side and chest as he braced himself above me. My hands found their way under his shirt without permission from either of us.

He made an appreciative noise deep in his throat and it was all I could do to keep from rubbing my hips against his thigh. I considered rolling him onto his back like I'd done that first night in Vientiane and kissing him, rocking and rubbing against him until he came, until I came, until I'd had enough of him.

I kept my hands motionless on the hot skin of his waist and focused on kissing him back.

He was hard when he finally pulled away. As was I. His smile was apologetic and I raised a hand to his lips to keep him from articulating the regret I could see in his eyes. I knew this was not the time or the place. Neither of us were ready for more. In his case, he was still fighting against the reality of his father's death. As for me, I needed to be certain I wasn't putting his health at risk; in my line of work, there was plenty of blood and sweat. I was virtually positive that I was fine, but I wasn't willing to bet Duo's life on it.

Still, it felt like dying an agonizing death a dozen times over when he moved away. As he snuggled against my side, I consoled myself with the very likely possibility that things wouldn't be this way for long between us. He chose me with every look, every touch, every kiss, every step in my direction. I just had to be patient. And follow Howard's advice about getting tested.

The old man saw us off the next morning, pulling Duo into a bear hug that I could almost feel just from watching it. He spoke in Duo's ear and Duo was blushing by the time he was released.

"Yeah, I know" was all he said.

I nodded to Howard. He nodded back. Duo and I threw our suitcases in the boot and hit the road. As Duo turned onto the highway bound for Heathrow, it hit me: in less than six hours, I'd be boarding a plane for New York; by this time tomorrow, I'd be walking across the threshold of Duo's apartment in America.

I was going home.

With Duo.

* * *

NOTES:

So, I don't have to point out the brief appearance of Shinigami at the beginning of this installment, do I? Oh, uh, whoops. I guess I just did.

I know you guys are probably feeling sorry for Trowa (because, whoa, Duo is a master at the art of giving mixed signals) and you're wondering what the hell Duo is thinking AND you're screaming at Trowa to just go for it and clue Duo in to all the relationship awesome they're missing out on. Um, sorry. His father's death is really messing with Duo's head right now. More on this in upcoming installments: "Team Work" and "Prom Night."

Also, due to his nomadic childhood, Trowa was never plugged into pop culture the way other kids are. I'm sure that lots of kids in Africa know (hella more than I do) about comic books (like Batman mentioned in this installment and Hawkeye from Ruins, Part 3). But Trowa's just really disconnected from "normal" if you get what I mean. (And, BTW, yes, Hawkeye's "real" character name is Barton – Clint Barton. No lie. This is something else that I put in _Tomb Raiders_ and then thought to check later, at which time I was struck by the creepy-psychic-vibe-ness of it.)

* * *

South African English terms and slang:

Cooldrink – soda, pop, a carbonated soft drink

Dagga – marijuana

Dinges – thingamabob, doohickey, whatchamacallit

Gavtol – pissed off, fed up with

Gees – spirit, to have spirit

Sarmie, sammie – a sandwich


	8. Team Work, Part 1

**Warnings:** language, yaoi (male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

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Recommended music for _Team Work, Part 1_ - "Love Alone" by Thriving Ivory

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NOTES: We are now entering what I call the "calm before the storm." Lots of details have to get worked out before the epic action starts up.

MANY THANKS to Solace Requiem for reading through the first draft of "Team Work" and fangirling with me. You are awesome, woman. Like, SRSLY.

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**Team Work – Part 1** (Duo POV)

"Oh… my… _God!"_

"What!?" I demanded, slightly alarmed. The last time I could remember Hilde using that tone I'd been very reluctantly sharing the boy's sex ed pamphlet with her. (Hey, she'd insisted!) She'd gaped, grimaced, and then proclaimed her intent to marry a girl. We'd been in fourth grade at the time.

So, the Tone was cause for concern. My knee-jerk reaction was to check my fly, but no. Everything was kosher. Even if my pants were gaping open and the mouse was out of its house, my long, wool coat was covering it up. In that moment of mindless panic, I'd totally forgotten that I was even wearing it. Sheesh.

But if Hilde wasn't horrified by my boybits dangling in the breeze, then that just begged the question—

"What the hell are you oh-my-Goding over, woman?"

_"Him."_

She didn't even have to point. Her awe-filled gaze led my focus straight across the parking lot, over the sea of snow-dusted cars, toward my ride. Trowa was leaning back against the side of the car, his arms crossed over his chest, his nose and cheeks reddened by the chill. Down jackets weren't supposed to reveal trim, muscular figures – I was fairly certain of this – but if Hilde was seeing the same thing I was, then that brand new winter coat of his was a Joe-Schmo-camouflage _fail._

"Somebody's got a new boyfriend," she concluded. "Yum."

"Boyfriend, huh?" I tried to sound nonchalant. Yeah, I considered myself Trowa's boyfriend, but I was so not ready to be official about it. As in, "Hey, I'm Duo. Nice to meet ya. And this is my boyfriend, Trowa."

I suspected my anxiety had its origins in a remark that Thomas had made while I'd watched Trowa get a haircut: "You're choosing a difficult path, my lord. People are not going to understand if you make your relationship with Trowa Barton known. Think very carefully. Do you want to be fighting their prejudices as well as the issues that come with running a corporation?"

He was right, dammit. I wanted to be with Trowa, but the issue of us being together was more than just how it would _look _to people. There would be consequences involved. Big ones. Shit, I didn't want to make our lives _more _difficult. I was up to my Adam's apple in "difficult" already.

And then Hilde's second remark filtered through. _"Yum!?"_ I coughed. "Oi! What would Dorothy say if she caught you ogling some guy?" Thank God she had a Thespian Club meeting today after school, otherwise she would have been standing here with us and she was even scarier than Hilde.

Hilde rolled her eyes. "She'd ogle with me, of course! I may not be all that interested in getting down to the gooey filling, but I can appreciate a delicious chocolate coating just as well as the next woman."

Although she wasn't as terrifying as Dorothy, Hilde still scared me sometimes.

"Oh, yeah," she volunteered, still ogling _my _boyfriend. "Somebody's expecting to get laid tonight."

"Eh?" I squeaked.

"Duo, grow a brain. Only a guy who expects to be well compensated for it would be a gentleman in _this _weather."

"Uh… really?"

She gave me a disbelieving look. "Tell me you'd drape yourself all over an ice-encrusted vehicle like that in the dead of winter out of the goodness of your heart."

"I might," I contrarily argued.

"You're abnormal."

True.

"Hey, wait a minute!" she gasped, her eyes widening with sudden enlightenment. "Isn't that _your _car?"

I fought the answering smirk. "So it is."

She turned to me and, ignoring the waves of students streaming out of the building behind us, demanded imperiously, "Explain."

At last, I let the smirk out to play. "You work it out if you're so smart," I dared her with every last juvenile bone in my body. "Since he's not _invisible_ to you now."

I saw it in her expression when it clicked. "Oh… my… _God!_ _That's _Trowa?"

I winked. "See ya tomorrow, Hils."

"What!? You're not going to introduce me?"

"It's freakin' freezing out here! You think I'm gonna keep him waiting just for _you?"_

Chuckling gleefully, I dashed off, leaving her standing on the school steps gaping and gawking. Oh, vengeance was sweet.

"Former girlfriend?" Trowa asked by way of greeting.

I rolled my eyes. "Hilde," I summarized. "If you're not in the process of freezing your balls off, I'll introduce you."

For a moment, he looked like he was seriously considering social pleasantries over a man's prerogative. "Fuck it," he growled and held out his hand for the car keys.

Given that he was standing (rather proprietarily) next to the driver's side door, I guessed, "I'm thinkin' this means you passed."

"With flying colors."

I dug the keys out of my pocket and tossed them to him before I jogged around to take the shotgun seat. "Not hard to do given the drivers in this city."

"Yo!" he objected.

I smirked again. I was getting a lotta use outta my signature smirk this afternoon. He unlocked the doors and I plopped into the passenger's seat, waiting until he'd turned over the engine and the heater was warming up before demanding, "So, fork it over. Let's see it. Gimme gimme gimme…!"

Sighing and shaking his head at my impersonation of a toddler with grabby hands syndrome, he shifted his hips up off the seat in a move that captured my complete attention. Retrieving his wallet from the back pocket of his new, winter-weight jeans, he deftly plucked the laminated plastic card out of its slot and held it out to me.

I snatched the driver's license with a flourish and peered closely at the photo. "Dammit. You're photogenic even at the DMV. I may have to hate you on principle."

"You _may_ have to?" he queried as I handed the license back to him. He wiggled in the seat as he put his wallet away.

"Yeah. There's a seventy percent chance of meaningless hate according to the latest forecast."

I couldn't see his smile through the fall of his bangs, but I sensed it was there. "I can do a lot with thirty percent."

"Just so long as you don't do it in a parking lot, you're in with a chance," I replied, glancing at one of the guys from the swim team as he strode past, performing a classic double-take at seeing me in the passenger's seat of my own car.

"Copy that," Trowa replied.

I laughed. We buckled our seatbelts and Trowa drove us home. Home. Wow, it was hard to believe that Trowa had been living with me for something like two weeks already. Although, we'd been so busy that I guess it was inevitable that time would fly. I really, really had not been prepared for bringing him home with me. I'd been intending to talk to my dad about it before I started cleaning out Solo's old room and boxing all his stuff up, but I hadn't gotten around to it before we'd left for Laos, so guess what was waiting for us when we arrived? Yup. Fun with cardboard boxes.

That first night, I'd felt like an absolute loser when I'd had to tell Trowa that his jetlagged ass could have the couch or my bed and I'd sleep wherever.

"Then you'll sleep with me," he'd said. "Where's your room?"

It'd been weird having someone in my bed with me. I kept expecting my dad to knock on the door and find me flat on my back, being body-glomped by my softly snoring boyfriend.

And then there'd been a whole scow-load of other things to worry about. Like when I was gonna have to give my notice at the Super Mart, and what was gonna happen with the company now that I was maybe-sorta-possibly in charge, and how soon Trowa'd be able to get his driver's license, and then there was the issue of getting him warm clothes and enrolled in that GED prep school I'd looked into and—

"Duo, breathe," he'd whispered at me that first night, rubbing his cheek against my shoulder.

"Sorry," I'd answered and forced myself to come up with a step-by-step plan. After that, I'd managed to fall asleep.

The next day, after he'd insisted on reconnoitering the entire freakin' building from roof to basement, I'd dragged Trowa to the mall where he'd found a warm coat, some jeans and sweaters and whatever else. I'd used my credit card. If he wanted to pay me back later, he would. I didn't really care one way or the other. It was a drop in my debt ocean until I had access to more funds.

After we'd loaded the shopping bags into the car, Trowa'd hesitated to close the trunk, staring down at his new stuff like he was watching evolution in action.

"What is it?" I'd asked, wondering at that look on his face.

Eyes downcast, he'd mumbled, "All this won't fit in my rucksack."

I'd grinned. "It's not supposed to."

He'd looked up, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Allow me the honor of introducing you the most exciting invention since clothes," I'd sales-pitched. "It's called 'the dresser'."

"Goof," he'd accused and slammed the trunk shut before getting in the car.

We'd swung by the Super Mart on the way home so I could pick up my schedule and beg some boxes. Trowa and I had crashed the moment we'd dumped the loot from our expedition onto the living room floor. The next day, we'd dealt with cleaning out Solo's room.

"I can do this by myself," I'd offered when Trowa had followed me down the hall after our morning consumption of rancidly dirty coffee.

"Would you rather be alone?"

"Well, no, I'd rather be with you, but what kind of loser makes his boyfriend clean out his own room before he can move into it?"

Trowa'd put a hand on my arm and stopped me. Turning me around, he'd gathered me close in an affectionate hug. For a guy who'd been raised by a bunch of mercs, he was well-versed in the art of being cuddly. Or maybe he was an expert _because_ he'd shared close quarters with a dozen guys all his life. Or, hell, maybe he was finally letting his inner child live out a dream.

"I'm not an expert on boyfriends," he'd confided. "But I've no complaints with this one."

"That's good," I'd mumbled into the weave of Trowa's grey turtleneck. "Because this one could do with a boost of confidence. He doesn't know his ass from his elbow."

He'd chuckled. "I could help him with that." To illustrate, he'd smoothed one palm down the center of my back and stopped right on my tailbone. "All he has to do is ask," he'd rumbled sexily in my ear.

I'd cleared my throat. "They say it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission," I'd remarked randomly. Or… not so randomly.

"So it is," he'd agreed after a long moment.

When I'd moved away, he'd dropped his arms. I still hated myself for feeling relieved. And I still hated myself for putting him off, day after day, night after night. He was waiting for me to bring up the subject of blood tests. He was waiting for me to tell him I wanted him. I just… I just couldn't say the words.

And I had no idea why.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Trowa asked at a red light.

I startled. "Huh? Oh, I was just thinkin' about all that crap we cleared outta Solo's old room." It was Trowa's room now but he had yet to actually sleep in the bed. Somehow, he ended up snuggling up with me every damn night and I ended up waking up with a raging hard-on every damn morning. At least there was the conspicuous wet patch of drool on the shoulder of Trowa's long-sleeved T-shirt to humiliate me into _not _starting something.

"He was interested in the Orient," Trowa observed.

No doubt about it. Most of the stuff we'd boxed up had been figures, models, and books on epic Asian stuff. There was one thing I didn't get, though, and that was the 500-piece jigsaw puzzle of some forest in Japan. Solo hated puzzles. And he'd always been more interested in the ancient buildings than in their surroundings. But whatever. It was probably just a leftover Christmas present that he'd ignored. That didn't explain why it'd been sitting in the middle of his bed, though.

With a sigh, I made an effort to _not _think about my brother. It wasn't every day that a guy passed his driver's test.

"Hey, let's stop by the Super Mart and get something for dinner."

Trowa tilted his head at a quizzical angle that made me want to nuzzle his throat. "No tins of pasta tonight?"

I grinned. "Hell, no! An' no microwave dinners, either. Only the best for you, baby."

His curiosity was palpable. "Hm?"

"We're goin' for frozen pizza!" I enthused, doing my slick punk rocker impersonation. Trowa barked out a laugh. I loved that I could make him laugh, but I also loved that I could coax a chuckle from him, too. Those chuckles of his were damn nice.

When he parked, I put a hand on his arm. "Keep the engine hot. I'll be comin' in fast with the goods."

That won me one of those aforementioned chuckles.

Even though I'd joked about it, I really did wanna give him the best. I chose two of those fancy, ten-dollar pizzas that you bake in the oven, two pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, a can of plain Pringles (because I knew he'd gag on all the other flavors), a bag of _real _sourdough pretzels, a container of cream cheese (for the pretzels), and a two-liter bottle of dry ginger ale (which was the only soft drink I'd gotten him to admit to liking). Oh, yeah. We were gonna celebrate in _style._

I swiped my credit card at the checkout and dumped the bag in the backseat. "Hit the gas, man," I ordered as I buckled myself in. "Ice cream's melting!"

"Code red," he remarked drolly, but he didn't waste any time pulling out of the parking lot and navigating us back the apartment. I raced him to the elevator and down the hall to the front door.

"Hey," he protested as we crossed the threshold. I was intent on getting the loot safely stowed in their respective refrigeration units so I'd already taken two steps in the direction of the kitchen.

"What?" I bitched playfully, "You're gonna make me take my shoes off indoors, honey?"

He hooked a finger in the belt loop on my coat, halting my progress. "Where's my kiss?" he murmured.

"Oh," I replied. We'd made a habit of enjoying one of those as soon as we got home and the front door had closed behind us. "I'm not letting you back me up against the wall so you can ravish me this time," I informed him, arms tight around the paper sack I was carrying.

"Fine," he replied. "We'll put that off 'til later." And then his mouth was on mine and his tongue was dipping past my slack lips. Oh, damn. Damn damn damn but he turned me into mindless goo every time he went in for kiss. Every damn time. Without fail. I felt his hand snake inside my collar at the back of my neck and I groaned. It was totally unfair that he could wipe my mind like a reformatted hard drive in two seconds or less.

He took his time charting and caressing the inside of my mouth, drawing my tongue out with his, pushing and pulling, giving and taking. My God but it was almost enough to get me to say to hell with the ice cream. My inarticulate groan was still vibrating in the back of my throat when he pulled back, looking completely freakin' pleased with himself.

Damn but he was hot when he smirked.

"I think we just managed to melt the ice cream," I told him.

"So we're having soup?"

"Hah. Yeah. Cold soup. I told ya dinner would be fancy, didn't I?"

I had to take a moment to summon up the effort needed to get my legs to move correctly, but I made it into the kitchen unimpeded this time. The ice cream was definitely soft, but not past the point of no return.

The point of no return. What an apt description for the line in the sand that I was pretending I wasn't standing on.

I nearly jumped a foot in the air when I felt Trowa's hands on my hips and his breath in my ear. I blinked, coming back to the present. I was standing with the refrigerator door open, staring at the mostly-bare shelves for no reason at all.

"You're distracted this afternoon. Bad day?"

"Eh? Nah," I said, closing the fridge. "A whole lotta nuthin'. Everyone's still a zombie from winter breaks. First days back at school are always like that."

Before I could turn around or pull away, he prompted with obvious hesitance, "That's not what I meant. Did anyone mention your father?"

"Oh. That. Yeah. They knew. Marshall put an announcement in the paper here the day after Christmas." School had been like attending that Goddamn funeral all over again what with all the condolences I'd had to field. Damn it, I shoulda tried out for the baseball team.

"Duo?"

"Yeah?"

"What else?"

It amazed me that he was so persistent at digging into my thoughts. My dad had often had to ferret for the truth. It was weird being subjected to the same procedure from someone else. But he was right; there was something else.

Sighing, I reached out and poked one of the refrigerator magnets into alignment with its neighbor. "Are you sure about doing security work? You don't have to. You have other options." That was the whole point of him coming to live with me. I wanted him to have options, _infinite_ freakin' options. I hadn't brought him to the States so he could endure a rerun of all the crap he'd already lived through once.

He leaned his chin on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his interlaced fingers against the top button of my school trousers beneath my coat. "I'm doing what I know," he replied. "Noventa said I could change my mind later."

"And you will say something," I checked, "if you change your mind." It wasn't really a question, but it still demanded a response.

"Of course. You'll be the first to know."

"OK." I prodded another magnet. "I guess it's kinda moot until you get done with school anyway."

"Yah."

I turned toward him. He'd taken his coat off and I grinned at today's sweatshirt. It was the "U of D" one.

"You do know this stands for 'University of Denver', right?" I'd checked that day at the mall.

He'd glanced down at the sweatshirt he'd just tossed over his own arm and grinned softly. "The 'D' is open to interpretation." The hot look he'd given me had clued me in to what he thought it stood for. Well, I guess everyone blushes in the men's department at some point in their lives, so I hadn't let the embarrassment get to me. Too much.

But the writing on his sweatshirt had just reminded me: "Your classes start the day after tomorrow."

"Yah."

He'd taken the placement exam last week so we both knew how much material he was gonna have to cover if he wanted to get his GED this summer. And it was a _lot _of material. He knew basic math and basic science and he'd read a few classics, which was all they taught over the radio in Africa. There were also my contributions which had been mainly world history and English literature, but Trowa'd never been to a brick-and-mortar school before. "Uh… how do you want to work the study thing?"

"What do mean?"

I shifted guiltily. "I mean, do you want me to help you if you have questions or do you want to see about getting a tutor?"

"The one you mentioned before? The medical student?"

"Yeah," I replied. "She lives downstairs. Real nice."

He tilted his head to the side. "You think I should study with her and not you?"

"Well… I'd feel weird about being your part-time tutor, Tro. It's not, y'know, balanced." I'd done the tutoring thing before. Once. And I'd lost a friend for my trouble. I didn't want to take that risk again. There was nothing I could do that would instantly put Trowa and me on a level playing field when it came to academics – I'd been given advantages that he'd been denied his whole life – but just because I _could _didn't mean that I wanted to set myself up as his teacher. I was his _boyfriend._ Well, I was trying to be.

"Ah," he agreed, nodding. "Right."

"Yeah." I was just relieved that he'd gotten what I'd been trying to say.

"And you're going to be busy with the company."

I made a face. Eugh. The company. "Yeah. Weekly video conferences. Whoo-hoo." And then, on top of that, my dad's secretary was gonna be sending over all the files and documents I'd have to read in order to know what the hell we were discussing in the video conferences. Thank God it was the second half of my senior year; I could afford to slack off at school since my winter and spring semester grades wouldn't be factored into my college applications. But cutting back on homework wasn't gonna be enough: just as soon as I had a steady income, I was gonna have to quit my job, too. Marshall had given me a ballpark figure for when that'd be happening. In the meantime, thank God for credit cards. My savings wasn't gonna be able to cover all the airline tickets and incidentals, but it'd stave off the credit wolves for a few months.

"What are you worrying about now?" Trowa demanded softly, looking a little exasperated with me.

"Nothing!" I was being a dick. "Are you gonna tell me about the awesome parallel parking job you did today or do I have the guess?"

I dragged Trowa over to the sofa in the living room and made him give me a blow-by-blow account of his driving test, complete with gestures. It was great. And I no longer felt like an utterly worthless jerk for driving him over to the DMV office this morning on my way to school and just leaving him there to face the glory of American government bureaucracy all on his own. I still thought I should have skipped school no matter how many times Trowa had looked on the verge of threatening to kick my ass.

"I'll call you if something happens," he'd promised after my sixth attempt to persuade him to let me stay and lurk and do the scary boyfriend thing if necessary. "My test starts at eleven. Until then, I have a book to read—" I'd given him my copy of _The Indian in the Cupboard_ just for the "cupboard" value. "—and when I'm done, I'll get some graze and take the train back."

I'd opened my mouth again.

He'd anticipated me. "Yah, I have my passport and money." He'd given me a look. "And if you open your mouth one more time, I'm kissing you right here on the street."

I'd bitten my lip and mumbled, "Sorry."

His slow, sweet smile had made me tingle. "I'll see you later." And then he'd gotten out of the car and walked up to the front doors of the building. This time, unlike at Bangkok airport, he hadn't looked back. It'd made driving off easier, but not by much.

"Whatever possessed you to stake out my car this afternoon, dude?" I asked when he got done with the whole tale and I'd applauded until he'd sketched out a mockery of a bow.

He leaned back against the sofa, kicking his legs out in a sexy sprawl. "I have no fokken idea. Whatever it was, it must have frozen and fallen off. I certainly won't be doing that a second time." He rolled his head toward me and smirked.

I smirked back. "I hope you're not gonna end up needing that whatever-it-was that froze and fell off."

He tucked his chin down and gave me a long, inviting look. "I haven't taken an inventory yet."

That sounded like an invitation. Hell, he_ looked_ like an invitation. My earlier hesitance evaporated. An instant later, I was straddling his hips, my hands pinning his shoulders to the cushions. I leaned down and he tilted his chin up so eagerly I felt a zing zip-and-zag down my spine. I kissed him. I kissed him like I'd been wanting to kiss him every day for those three damn years we'd been apart. Here he was, at long last, draped over my sofa and there was nothing between us but a niggling doubt that I couldn't pin down. Well, I'd worry about wrangling it later. Now was for the amazing fact that he was here with me and wanted me.

I tasted every contour and texture of his mouth I could reach with my tongue until his fingers were digging into my thigh muscles through my school uniform trousers and he was making these tiny, needy little sounds that were almost grunts but more like whispered yeses.

When my mouth was numb to the taste of him, I leaned back. His lips were wet with my spit. I reached out to wipe his mouth for him, but he caught my thumb between his lips. I held my breath as he licked the pad and then I groaned when he began a hard suction. "Ooooh, damn," I approved. "I think this still works."

"Hmm," he rumbled, watching me with green eyes gone forest-dark with lust.

Pulling my thumb from his mouth, I grasped his wrists and lifted his hands to my shoulders. "How about these?" I checked. "Are you getting any sensory input?"

I guided his hands down over my chest, marveling at my own daring. Hell, what did I know about fooling around? Only what I'd seen in movies and read in the occasional Biohazard fanfic (which, by the way, I was sure were not representative of _actual _or even _possible s_exual encounters) but whatever. It was a place to start.

Instead of letting his flattened palms finish their journey at my crotch, I pushed his hands around to my back and rolled my hips against him. I grinned when he actually cupped my ass and my eyes widened when he squeezed.

"Ungh!" I squeaked, panting. "Those seem to be working."

His fingertips drew lazy patterns on the fabric over my rear. "Uh-hm," he agreed, wetting his lips.

At some point, he'd slouched further down on the sofa and I could see a sexy band of taut skin above the waist of his jeans. I burrowed my hands underneath his bunched up sweatshirt and ran my palms up the hot, muscular territory of his chest until I brushed his nipples.

The effect was electric. He threw his head back, eyes closed and breath hissing out through his teeth as his hips rolled up and he pulled mine down in a hot collision that made me moan.

"I'm pretty sure you're in working order," I panted. "Whatever froze and fell off earlier couldn't have been a necessary component for basic function."

"Duo—" he gasped out softly. "How can you—bloody talk so much?"

"One of my many talents," I responded.

He rocked against me a second time and I shivered, sensing the start of a rhythm. "Uhhh…" I commented, remembering that night in Vientiane with him leaning over me, rubbing against me, bringing me off with his callused hand. My fingers twitched, pinching his hardened nipples as I moved against the bulge in his jeans. He couldn't possibly be comfortable – hell, my trousers were a helluvalot less confining and _I _was uncomfortable – but he didn't take his hands off my ass in order to rectify the problem. Nor did he even ask me to help him out. He just leaned back against the sofa, his eyes mostly closed but occasionally glittering at me in between soft scrapes from my blunt nails. I watched him back as he wetted his lips, mouthed my name, and guided my crotch down against his time and time again.

"Trowa, baby," I warned him as my skin started to tingle all over. "We're gonna come in our pants if you keep this up."

"You started it."

"You practically invited me to."

"Yah," he admitted. "I did." The last word bled into a groan.

"You close?" I checked.

He nodded once. Beneath my hands, his chest was rising and falling with heaving pants. When I pulled my hands out from under his sweatshirt, he protested softly but then groaned when I popped the button free on his jeans and carefully slid the zipper down. I tugged at the fabric and his length bulged out, pulling his underwear taut. I ran my fingers over him, tracing and teasing before heading for the elastic waistband. I didn't actually make it that far.

He came with a bitten-off shout, pulsing against my hands and dampening the fabric of his shorts.

"Damn," I panted as my own tingles coalesced – one by one – in my belly. "You are so hot."

He opened his eyes and looked at me. I tracked the movement of his tongue as he wetted his lips again.

Ooooh, Christ he was sexy. "I could almost come just from this," I confessed. I was close, but it was gonna take a little more TLC to get the job done.

"Almost?" he rasped.

I nodded and his hands abandoned their post to seek out the fastenings on my trousers. I looked down and watched as his nimble fingers worked at freeing me: button, zipper, boxer flap…

"Ah…" I sighed as he drew my length out from the confining fabric. The air hit my skin and I shivered with relief and reaction and arousal. I threw my head back and nearly squealed when Trowa's fingers traced the vein along the underside. He rubbed that spot just under and behind the head until I was jerking against him in an effort to feel more, more, more—!

"Befokken lekker," he growled in approval.

I would have gotten around to asking him for a translation if he hadn't fisted his hand around me right then and pulled. "Jesus fuck!" I hissed, groaning when he massaged my own wetness into the head, keeping the rhythm slow and his fist tight. His other hand found its way beneath my dress shirt and undershirt and his fingertips danced up my ribcage.

"Holy fucking Trowa baby," I babbled when he found a nipple. I slumped over him, bracing myself up on my hands as I thrust into his grip. He toyed with my chest, watching me with eyes glittering and lips wet. "So hot," I accused through gritted teeth. "Can't stand it." My fingers curled into the cushions. I was so close I could _taste _it. "Gonna come," I warned him.

"Good."

I shook my head. "All over your clothes…!"

His eyes narrowed and sparkled with approval. He hissed softly, "Yes…"

And then it was happening and I was dying or falling or being obliterated. The rush and the heat and the _now-now-now!_ was just as intense as it had been in Vientiane. I locked my elbows to keep from falling on him and just focused on breathing. Beneath me, he was wiggling and shifting around. It wasn't until I felt something firm-to-the-point-of-steely and slightly damp brush against my crotch that I realized he was hard again. Hard and bare.

I opened my eyes and looked right into his.

"All right?" he checked, his hands pushing at my trousers and shorts, his palms sliding over my hips, skin on skin.

I glanced down and, whoa damn. It was a miracle my school uniform was as splatter-free as it was. I don't think I'd ever come that much in my entire life. And then there was the mess smeared across Trowa's thighs from his first round. And then there was _Trowa._ This was the first time I'd really _looked _at him and… and… I swallowed thickly.

"Duo?"

"Huh?"

His hands caressed their way deeper into my shorts. He asked softly, "Can I come again with you?"

The sound of his voice… the question itself… the sight of him flushed with desire and the feel of him rubbing against me… I shuddered and felt a twitch from my supposedly exhausted length. "God, yes."

He leaned up to kiss me and I dared to take one hand off of the back of the couch and work my way beneath his sweatshirt again. I thought about asking him if I could take it off, but the feel of his hardness nudging against me and the slickness of his skin when I rubbed against him drove every thought from my mind. I was distantly aware of grabbing, scratching, plucking, and groping my way across his chest and I could feel his fingers digging into my ass. He kissed me softly with just brief flicks of his tongue, teasing me with the same rhythm as our hips. He nuzzled against my neck, kissing, sucking, nipping. He was gonna leave marks, I was sure, and I suspected I'd feel embarrassed about it later, but I couldn't figure out why.

He pushed against my shirt collar and necktie, trying to burrow deeper. His breath was so hot and his scent was overwhelming and I just wanted to fall into him forever. The second wave, when it came, was smaller, slower, almost soothing. I shuddered and groaned as I pulsed against him, my hips twitching, mindlessly chasing the euphoria that was even now beginning to fade.

Trowa's mouth sealed over my neck and he sucked hard on my skin. An instant later, I felt him let go, felt the dampness of his second release surging up my belly and then dripping down.

I wondered what he tasted like.

I had to close my eyes. The eyes were the window to the soul, after all, and I wasn't so sure I was ready for him to see that thought reflected there. His hands roved up and down my back, guiding me back to the here, the now, and the mess we'd just made.

Hm. I guess Hilde had been right about someone getting laid tonight. Sort of.

"Um…" I really, honestly didn't know what to say.

Trowa's arms banded around me and I gave up on words. He didn't seem to need them and I couldn't string two together. I relaxed against him, my hands seeking out his arms just for something to hang onto.

"Dude," I finally managed, "I'm totally wearing my school uniform."

"I noticed."

"There anything you wanna tell me?" I checked, biting back a giggle. "I promise not to judge you if you've got a thing for guys in uniform. Or school uniforms."

He barked out a laugh. "I don't think it's the uniform, but I'll keep you posted."

"You damn well better," I bantered back, grinning.

While Trowa took a shower, I threw my uniform in the washing machine and then got around to fixing dinner. Our pizzas were on the coffee table, steaming and cheesy, by the time Trowa emerged with damp hair.

I tossed him the remote as I got the ginger ale and a pair of tumblers. Trowa popped open the can of Pringles; I tore open the bag of pretzels and opened the cream cheese. Somehow, we ended up watching professional wrestling, bumping shoulders as we mocked the incredibly fake and sorry excuse for entertainment.

"They can't expect us to take this seriously," Trowa remarked in a tone that had been squashed flat by disbelief.

I snorted. "I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be a parody."

"A bad one."

"Hah! Maybe we're just not drunk enough to appreciate it."

I was sure wishing for a stiff drink the following day. After Trowa dropped me off at school, Hilde pounced and, naturally, her gaze zoomed right to the muffler I'd strategically placed around my neck to hide the hickeys.

"What's with the muffler, Duo?" she teased as I hung my coat up in my locker and collected my books.

"Have you looked outside?" I retorted, ignoring Dorothy's knowing smirk. "It's freakin' winter."

"Nice and toasty in here," she argued.

"I'm anemic."

"Of course you are," Dorothy chimed in with a sly smile, "what with all the blood rushing _south."_

I felt my face flame. Damn it. Why didn't I have any straight, clueless guys for friends?

"So, how's Trowa?" Hilde badgered.

Rallying my fighting spirit, I gave her wide, leer of a smile. "He's awesome. Thanks for asking." And then I got my ass the hell outta there.

Everyone thought I was coming down with something given my new accessory and the way I'd blush for no apparent reason. They couldn't have known I was remembering last night's sofa escapade so, for all intents and purposes, it looked like I was about to spontaneously combust from bubonic plague or something. Yes, my muffler was my new best friend. I considered naming it. Maybe "Hubert" or "Fritz."

Unfortunately, there was nothing it could do for me when swim practice rolled around.

"You seeing someone, Dom?"

I rolled my eyes and just generally did my best not to hunch up my shoulders to hide the marks. "Butt the hell out, Rod," I replied jovially.

"Do I know her?"

It was funny how he assumed it was a girl given the rumors that had been going around about me for years. "I doubt it."

Before he could move on to the next out of twenty freakin' questions, I finished stuffing my braid up inside my swim cap and left the changing room. Rod Walker was a decent guy, but there was no way I was gonna talk to him about _that._

"Maxwell!"

At the edge of the pool, I turned. "Yeah, Coach?"

Coach Otto glanced at my neck. I braced myself for, I dunno, a disapproving look or… something, but I couldn't detect so much as a blip in his expression.

"I'm going to need that doctor's report if you're serious about the state finals in February."

"Oh… right." I'd qualified back at the end of November. My dad had been pretty thrilled about it. I clenched my jaw and nodded. "I'll get a physical and have the results sent over."

He nodded. "Next Friday's the deadline."

Great. As if I didn't have enough to do already. "Got it."

He left me to my warm-up routine. Normally, I loved swimming. Today, I just couldn't get into it. I had too much to worry about. Too much to do. I felt like I was wasting my time when I ought to be studying up for the company video conference this weekend and talking to Marshall about his progress on my dad's will. Hell, I didn't even know if my dad had appointed someone else president of the company!

I could dream.

"So, I guess you're in charge now," Alex Ruthford said as I pulled on my coat at the end of practice.

"Huh?"

Alex and I had been friends once upon a time in elementary school. Then we'd gotten split up into separate homerooms in junior high and he'd started hanging out with Josh Mueller. The guy'd always creeped me out, so Alex and I had kinda lost touch. Having him as a teammate had seemed like a serendipitous bonus back in sophomore year when I'd signed up, but he'd changed from the kid I remembered. Maybe it was Mueller's influence.

"The company," he elaborated, almost glaring at me. "You're in charge now, right?"

"I guess."

"So the headquarters are staying here in New York?"

I shrugged. I really had no idea what the hell was gonna happen. I knew that his dad was one of the top guys at the New York office but I'd never met him.

Alex nodded once, as if I'd just confirmed his suspicions about something, and then he turned away. I booked it the hell out of there.

Trowa was waiting in the car with the engine running. He had a book propped open on the steering wheel and his index finger was already buried under the page he was reading in preparation of turning it. As I got closer, I noticed he was almost finished with _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe._ Another recommendation of mine. Also for the "cupboard" value.

I knocked on the hood of the car as I jogged around. He didn't jerk his head up in surprise, but his mouth curved into a grin. He hit the door locks for me without looking up from the page.

"How was practice?" he asked, closing the book and tucking it into the side pocket on the door before reaching up to turn off the interior dome light.

I was about to shrug and blow the question off, but then I remembered my souvenir from last night. I glared at him. "Revealing."

I'd never seen Trowa bite his lip in an attempt to camouflage a smile before. Interesting. "Oh?"

"Dude. Your innocent and nonchalant routine needs serious work. I can see your chest puffing up from way over here."

"You're not that far away."

"Exactly."

He snorted softly and then glanced my way shyly, his gaze touching briefly on my neckwear. "The marks weren't that bad," he mumbled, attempting to downplay the situation.

"Oh, really?" I reached up and flicked on the dome light back on before pulling my muffler away from my throat and leaning over to get a look at the bruises in the rear view mirror. They'd darkened since this morning. "I'm going to kill you," I informed him. "If you start running now, you might make it to the port authority before I track your ass down and exact revenge."

"I'm open to revenge," he murmured directly into my ear.

I twitched over onto my side of the car and rewrapped the muffler around my neck. I glared at him again. "Yeah, you'd like that a little too much, I'm thinkin'."

"You think too much," he argued back and finally put the car in gear. When he turned the dome light off for a second time, I welcomed the darkness.

I stared out the window, silently contemplating my options for revenge. At the stoplight just a block from our building, Trowa cleared his throat and prompted, "Duo?"

"Hm?"

"It won't happen again."

I blinked. Did he really think I was _angry_ about it? I wasn't. Not really. I was… irked, but I had to admit that the hickeys would undoubtedly up my street cred at school _if _I played my cards right. Hell, I was pretty sure that it was gonna be around school by lunch tomorrow. If I kept acting embarrassed about it, I'd never live it down. So, I was gonna have to beat my chest like some kind of primeval caveman and smirk my ass off. I could do that.

I let out a sigh. "I'm not mad, Tro."

He glanced at me questioningly.

I glanced at him, a wry grin in play.

He released a breath and stopped strangling the steering wheel. His shoulders relaxed. He ran a hand through his bangs, pulling them back from his face completely before letting them feather back down into place. "Bloody hell, you gave me a skrik," he muttered.

There was that _skrik_ word again. I was thinkin' I knew what it meant, though. I smirked.

The light changed and he drove on, turning off of the street and into the underground parking garage. When we got to the elevator, I hit the button for the floor beneath ours before he could do the honors.

He looked at me, brows expressively arched in question. I just grinned in reply and rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. "How was your day?" I finally asked.

"Productive," he summarized.

I reached out and flicked the edge of the book binding poking out of his jacket pocket. "Hm, yeah. Looks that way."

He gave me an unreadable look.

My grin widened. "How often did you reread the same page?"

He turned toward me and took a predatory step in my direction. Rather than back away from him, I leaned forward and raised my chin, cocking my brows in challenge.

The elevator began to slow. Trowa paused just out of range and took a quick, cleansing breath. "Tell me one of us is getting ravished when we get upstairs."

I chuckled darkly. "Only if you're good."

The doors opened before he could respond one way or another. I led him down the corridor to apartment 1402, which was directly beneath ours. I knocked and waited.

When the door opened and the man on the other side smiled in welcome, I greeted, "Hey, Miles. Long time no see!"

"Dominic! Yes, it's been ages. How are you?" We shook hands. Miles was actually Rod's elder brother. I had to wonder about that family. Miles Walker and Rod Walker. Thank God their parents hadn't had a third kid or the poor schmo probably would have been named "Kilometer" or "Cain" or something.

"Sorry to drop in like this, but I was wondering if Sally was around."

"She just got back from her lecture." He gestured us across the threshold. As he shut the door, I volunteered, "Miles, this is my friend Trowa Barton. Trowa, Miles Walker. His younger brother's on the swim team."

"Who's here, Miles?" a woman's voice called from the direction of the kitchen.

"Dominic from upstairs and a friend of his."

I grinned and nodded hello to Sally when she came into the room. She made a beeline right for me and gave me a hug.

I patted her awkwardly. With her husband and my boyfriend looking on, I was feeling the pressure to not look too comfortable. "Damn, woman. I know you love your plants, but all I did was water 'em the last time you guys went to Hawaii."

"Duo, silly bean," she scolded me, smiling. Then she turned to Trowa and damned if her blue eyes didn't connect the dots in two seconds flat. I stuttered through the second round of introductions where I'd been Mr. Cool not three minutes earlier.

"It's so nice to meet a friend of Duo's," she approved, shaking Trowa's hand. I was partly mollified by how unsettled Trowa seemed by her warm reception. Not that he looked nervous, but I could tell that he'd withdrawn and was bracing himself. This was his bodyguard face. The one he used when he was in unfamiliar territory but was reasonably certain he wouldn't actually have to pull a knife on anyone.

"What brings you by?" she asked.

"We were looking for you, of course," I teased, drawing her attention away so Trowa could have a minute to collect himself and scope out the scene.

"Oh?"

Miles laughed. "My wife is always in demand."

She smacked him teasingly on the arm.

"Uh-oh," I mused. "That sounds ominous." And it sounded like it was gonna cost me an arm and a leg in tutor's fees.

"What can I do for you, Duo?" she replied.

I took half a step closer to Trowa. "Well, Trowa here has just immigrated to the States and he'd like to get his GED. Of course, the minute I mentioned this awesome lady with mad tutoring skills in my building, he wanted to meet you."

Sally smiled and, when she turned her attention back to Trowa, he looked ready to talk to her. "Where are you from, Trowa?"

I stood by, just in case Trowa needed backup, but let him talk to his prospective tutor on his own. He listed the classes he'd be taking and glanced at me when he got to the part about what he'd need to learn.

"Writing skills," I contributed. "Junior high and high school math. Chemistry, physics, stuff like that. We'll email you a complete list later if that's OK?"

It was.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" Miles asked us as Sally went to get her cell phone so she could enter our numbers and email addresses for future reference.

"Nah, thanks, though," I declined.

"So, Trowa," Miles continued, changing tack, "how did you and Dominic meet?"

Trowa's lips twitched into an expression that was almost a smile. "He dropped in on me in Egypt."

I barked out a laugh. "You mean my braid did," I contributed. Turning back to Miles, I added, "It was a couple of years ago."

"There's a story there," Miles remarked.

"Stop putting the poor boys on the spot, Miles," Sally said, returning to the living room. We exchanged contact information and Trowa and Sally settled on a day and time for their first session. Then it was up to me to get us outta there before we ended up being dinner guests after all. Miles was a helluva cook, but there was no way I wanted to spend the evening fielding personal questions. Besides, I'd have to take off my muffler and wouldn't _that _be a helluva conversation starter?

At the door, Sally drew me into another hug. "We heard about your dad, Duo. You're welcome here anytime… to talk or commune with the ferns. Whatever you need." Smiling, she nodded toward the forest that was her and Miles' living room.

She didn't say she was sorry for my loss. She just hugged me and then let me leave. I could have kissed her, but she just wasn't my type. Plus, it would've been too much trouble to explain it to Miles. And then there was Trowa; he might have gotten jealous. A jealous Trowa was hot as all _hello_ but it would not have been a very auspicious start for him and his new tutor.

"You're smirking again," Trowa observed as we took the elevator up to our floor.

"Yup." There was no point in denying it. I met his gaze briefly as he looked up from the muffler still wrapped around my neck. "Just, y'know, _thinking,"_ I purred, reminding him of the dog house he was still in. I'd said I wasn't angry, which was true, but I hadn't said he was totally in the clear. Actually, I didn't _want _him to be in the clear. I glanced away, savoring the inevitable.

Trowa growled softly in frustration. "You are killing me," he muttered.

_Good._

I took my time strolling down the hall to the door. He hovered as I unlocked it and held it open. The door shut behind us. I tossed my keys on the hall table and my school bag onto the rug. I unbuttoned my winter coat methodically. Slowly, I pulled the muffler off my neck and stuffed it into my coat pocket. He was so tense he seemed to be bracing for some kind of impact.

Well, I aim to please, after all.

I turned toward him and smiled.

"Duo?" he prompted. I'd never heard him sound so uncertain.

My smile stretched wider.

He watched me, wary and tense, a wolf caught in a tiger's territory.

I took a step in his direction. He backed up. I took another. He retreated again. I stalked him in silence until his heel bumped against the wall. Perfect. I carefully unzipped his coat and then reached for the front of his jeans.

"May I?" I sang, tapping out a snappy rhythm against the metal button. Slowly and guardedly, he nodded.

I ran my fingers up and down the front of his jeans, following the line of flesh I was most interested in. "Mmm," I approved as he hardened under my touch.

His hands fisted at his sides, but he didn't reach for me. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head back as his hips hesitantly twitched in my direction.

I petted him through his jeans again and again until he shivered. Taking half a step forward and sliding a knee between his, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his neck in a single chaste kiss. He let out a breath and turned his head to the side, exposing his throat to me, to my lips and teeth and tongue.

I could mark him. He'd let me. My mouth watered as I relished the idea. I opened my mouth and applied a brief, sucking kiss to his skin. He groaned. His hips thrust against my roving fingers.

"Duo…" he whispered. The sound of my name poured out of him like a sonnet, a hymn, a _prayer._

My breath caught. My lashes fluttered.

I sighed and leaned away, shaking my head to clear it. When I spied the tender, damp skin of his neck, I knew I couldn't mark him. Not because I didn't want to, but because he trusted me, because I wanted only the best for him, because he was my friend and I loved him and… I couldn't treat him that way. I doubted he'd _meant_ to give me hickeys, not really. They'd probably been the result of a stupid, heat-of-the-moment deal. What I was about to do here and now wasn't nearly as innocent as that.

"Trowa," I called softly.

He opened his eyes and rolled his head toward me.

"I'm not angry," I said, hopefully for the last time.

He watched me in silence. Although he didn't say anything, I could see how much he wanted to believe me. It was there in his visible green eye.

I smiled softly. "Are you gonna touch me or do I gotta beg?"

Before he could either move or reply, I kissed him. Gently but thoroughly, softly but deeply. He groaned and then his hands were on my hips and pressing upward under my coat and school blazer, pulling my dress shirt out from the waistband of my trousers, peeling my undershirt up my back. He thrust his hips against mine as his rough hands surged up my bare skin beneath the layers of fabric.

I tore through the fastenings of his jeans and my trousers, shucked my coat and blazer off as I rode against him, rocking-rolling-thrusting, sharing breaths and swapping quiet moans.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I confessed against his mouth. "All damn day."

"I didn't mean to leave marks," he replied before applying a quick, biting kiss to my lower lip.

"I know," I replied. "But you can if you need to." The sound of the words made waves of heat shiver inside me. I licked my lips.

He pulled back and, still panting, paused. "What?"

"I'm yours," I reminded him. "But if you need more than just the words…"

Trowa and I were alike in a lot of ways, but we were undeniably different, too. He tried so hard not to show it, but I knew he burned hot. He kept so much buried and under pressure. Deep down, his core was molten just like the Earth's. He tried so hard not to come on too strong, too overbearing, but I sensed the instinct. Hell, he'd shown up at my school the day before just to make me walk over to him, choose him, show my allegiance in front of my friends and classmates. He thought I didn't know what was going through his head, but I could read him like the book that was still in his jacket pocket.

I pressed a kiss to his chin and then another to his jaw. I slouched down so I could nuzzle against his bobbing Adam's apple. The motion rubbed my hip against his exposed length and my bare arousal against the bunched up fabric of his jeans at the top of his thighs. "What do you need, baby?"

He rocked against me. "I need you to get a blood test, Duo."

I froze.

His fingers splayed and then re-curled into fists against my back. He sighed out a word I was pretty sure was an Afrikaans curse. I looked up at the sound of his head hitting the wall with a soft _thud!_ "Forget I said that," he whispered to the ceiling.

"No, I'm not gonna forget," I replied. I braced my hands on the wall on either side of him. I had every intention of getting that freakin' blood test, of being with Trowa, of being his lover and not just his hand job helper. There was still something that was bothering me, though. Something that wasn't right. It was true that I was his, totally and irrevocably, but— "But I need time."

"I can be patient," he offered, his hands relaxing and smoothing down my back, "if you promise to tell me 'no' when I go too far."

This wasn't the first time he'd expressed this concern. "I'm not made of glass," I replied drolly.

"No?" he moved differently now, molding and rolling me against him. "Maybe you are – molten from the kiln."

"Says the kiln himself," I returned and picked up where we'd left off.

For the second night in a row, I ended up having to do laundry. I didn't regret it though. Rubbing and rocking against Trowa in the hallway with the door and passersby only a short stretch away had been the hottest thing ever. He'd pulled me squarely between his widely braced feet and propped one booted foot up on the nearby bench while his hands had guided me roughly against him. And then he'd leaned his head back, offering his unblemished neck to me for a second time.

"Please, Duo," he'd murmured and I'd relented, marking him with one long, hot, sucking kiss.

In the moments just before I fell asleep that night, I curled myself tighter around him, nuzzled his cloth-covered shoulder, and smirked. Somebody was gonna be wearing a turtleneck tomorrow to his first day of classes. Hah-hah! Maybe it wasn't retribution, but – as Trowa liked to say – turnabout was fair play.

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OK, so, no notes this time, but I'd like to thank all the wonderful, generous readers who have left feedback and comments and fangirl flailing for me. I cannot express how IMPORTANT your encouragement is in my writing process. So, if you're reading and enjoying "Tomb Raiders", you can make may day a bazillion times better **and** inspire me to the Nth power by leaving me a note. Even just to say hi. It'd be nice to know that you're out there fan-flailing with me.


	9. Team Work, Part 2

**Warnings:** language, reference to yaoi (male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

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Recommended music for _Team Work, Part 2_ - "Run" by Thriving Ivory

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NOTES: If you tilt your head and squint, you can see some glimpses of Shinigami throughout "Team Work." There is a possible appearance by our favorite God of Death at the very end of Part 1, and another here near-ish the beginning of Part 2, plus one more (that's kinda hard to miss) in Part 3. We'll see these summed up in Trowa's POV (in "Prom Night") so don't worry if you miss them. They're kind of read-it-again details – y'know, for if you read the story again after it's all done.

MORE THANKS to Solace Requiem for all of her fantastic feedback on the first draft of this installment.

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**Team Work – Part 2** (Duo POV)

"You're going out dressed like that?" I asked when he strode into the kitchen the next morning, fresh from the shower.

"What?" he asked, looking down at himself, completely clueless.

I gaped. He was standing there in a cable-knit sweater and a pair of jeans. No turtleneck. Hell, he wasn't even wearing a collared shirt. My gaze snagged on the hickey I'd given him in the hall the night before. It was livid against his smooth skin.

I gestured to the O-shaped mark on his throat. He caught my hand and pressed my fingertips to his mouth. "Yah, I'm going out like this."

"Why?" I sputtered.

"Because my incredible kerel, who is befokken lekker, pressed me senseless last night."

"Befokken lekker?" I parroted.

He leaned in and rumbled with sensual emphasis, "Befokken…" and then he smoothed a hand down the line of my body from clavicle to hip and drew my earlobe into his mouth, releasing it after a brief, wet tug. "Lekker." He rolled the word on his tongue like he was savoring it.

"OK," I rasped. "I think I got it."

He backed me up against the counter and kissed me until I could feel a trail of saliva cooling at the corner of my mouth. "Damn it," I bitched when he deigned to let me talk. "You're gonna drop me off in front of everyone at school sporting freakin' wood, aren't you?"

His chuckle was dark and full of promise. "Someday, if you'll let me, yah, I might."

I could actually see the appeal… a bit. Turning it around, yeah, I was tempted to show everyone how freakin' steaming hot Trowa was for me. I wanted to rub it in their faces that I'd been given something they could never have. Trowa wanted me and no one else. Yeah, that was damn hot. But did I actually want Hilde and Dorothy and the whole damn swim team and student body to see him with swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes? No. This Trowa was mine and I was damn well gonna keep him all to myself.

Still, I could not let myself forget that he was dangerous. I mean, yeah, he'd been raised by mercenaries and he was a fighter. He could probably snap my neck like it was a toothpick before I even felt a twinge of alarm. I'd never worried – and I wasn't worried now – about him doing anything to _hurt_ me. But damn, he was intense. This was the first time I'd ever been on the business end of Trowa. It was an unnerving – but not exactly unpleasant – place to be.

As far as unpleasant places went, it was hard to beat the boardroom of Maxwell Limited, New York. That weekend, after my morning shift at the Super Mart, Trowa picked me up and we drove downtown to company HQ where he had a meeting with Gerald Septum, the head of security, and I sat through a reading of my dad's will. He'd named me his sole heir and placed the entire Goddamn company – including the livelihoods of hundreds of people – in my hands.

Thank God for the brevity of the document and the well-timed bathroom break. I was able to puke in peace and quiet. For a long moment, I just sat on the commode in the stall and breathed into the wad of toilet paper I'd pressed over my mouth. I reached for my cell phone and checked but there were no messages from Trowa; he was still enduring some orientation or other.

It was a sad, sad commentary on my state of mind that I preferred the men's toilet to the plush conference room down the hall which had a fragrant coffee service and a box of complementary donuts. The very thought of food had me whirling around and performing an encore to the porcelain god.

"Are you—?" Trowa broke off the question when I stumbled out of the trans-Atlantic video conference three hours later. He shoved his textbook back into the bag I'd loaned him and surged to his feet. I imagined I looked like hell. He confirmed it. "You are not all right. Do you need to see a physician?"

I shook my head. "Just… let's go home."

I couldn't remember having a worse non-cataclysmic day. Trowa didn't prompt me in the car. Hell, he didn't even say anything as we kicked off our shoes and hung up our winter coats. He gently but firmly collected my arm and pulled me close.

I pressed my face into the collar of Trowa's shirt and despaired: "I threatened him with sixteen Pomeranians and he still didn't find a chance to change his fucking will."

He held me tighter.

"I can't do this, Tro. I can't run a company. I don't want this. I—"

"You don't have to run or do or decide anything tonight," he soothed, herding me toward the bathroom and the shower. Just like that night in Vientiane, he stripped me down to my underwear and got the hot water running. It was easier to just go with it than argue for the sake of arguing; I certainly didn't have any better ideas at the moment. So I got in the damn shower. It was as good a place to hide as any, I supposed. He came into the room while I was still trying to dissolve myself into a sludge that would fit down the drain and laid out my pajamas on the countertop.

"I'm so sorry," I choked out as I watched his form move around through the pebbled glass of the shower door.

"Hush," he replied. "I told you I'd stay no matter what and I meant it."

"Yeah, but now it's all official and—"

"Are we partners?" he pressed.

I braced my hands on the wall and bowed my head in defeat. The hot water hissed and dripped around my hair-plastered shoulders, peeling back my layers until I was face-to-face with the truth: "Yes."

"Then finish up and come out. It's too quiet out there."

I gritted my teeth and smiled. It was either that or sob.

I don't know how he did it, but Trowa got me through that night and the day that followed. I felt… numb yet panicked. I was in a perpetual state of disbelief and yet over-sensitized. I don't think Trowa took his arm from around my waist or shoulders once the entire time… except for bathroom breaks, of course. The day I needed his support just to take a piss was gonna be… well, bad. It'd be epically bad.

And, to top it all off, I still had to go get that damn physical before Friday. Yippee.

I considered just saying to hell with it. I didn't need the stress. I could quit the swim team. No one would blame me. But, damn it, my dad had been so proud when I'd placed in the top five at the regional swim meet last fall. Hell, _I'd_ been so damn proud. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Or maybe an alternate dimension.

What had happened to that kid whose biggest conundrum had been whether or not to confess to his best friend that not only was he a swimmer, but a damn good one? I'd kill to be that guy again, back when life had been so pathetically simple. I'd had silly problems then. And the antidote to my mediocre anxiety had only been a text message or a phone call away.

Now Trowa was closer. _We _were closer. And as the pressure around me mounted, I felt myself gravitating toward him more and more. I was beginning to understand that I needed to be as close as I could physically get to him.

"I need a blood test to check for STDs," I told the doctor on Tuesday morning. The sports clinic wasn't far from the school so I'd skipped my third period class and walked. "Can you write that up separately?"

"Of course," he said, as if it was just another flu shot request.

I spoke with the receptionist-slash-nurse lady about having my paperwork sent to the school by Friday but the blood work results I'd pick up myself. The whole thing took about an hour and I was all set.

"What are you going to do for Valentine's Day?" Hilde asked me a week and a half later at lunchtime.

I poked at my salad and shrugged. "Wake up, drink bad coffee, come to school—"

She rolled her eyes. "I _meant,_ what are you going to get Trowa?"

I gave her a look of such animosity that she subsided without a peep. Unfortunately, Dorothy took up the gauntlet.

"Have you invited him to the swim meet?"

The state swim meet was on Sunday, the 10th. I hadn't planned on inviting anyone. I wasn't sure I _wanted _anyone to be there. I was doing the freakin' meet for my dad and I was probably gonna suck since my concentration was shot to hell. I didn't want the added pressure of having people I _knew _watching me from the audience. I performed better when I could be just another swimmer, just another kid from some preppy high school.

"You should ask him to come," Dorothy announced, taking a genteel bite from her overcooked chicken parmesan.

"And when you become queen of the universe, maybe I will," I retorted. I gave the hell up on lunch and, standing, went to dump the contents of my tray and get the hell to my next class. So what if I was fifteen freakin' minutes early. That's what the bathrooms were for.

I spent those fifteen minutes contemplating the messages that had been scratched into and written with permanent marker on the walls of my chosen stall. I counted the long-dried wads of toilet paper adhered to the ceiling. It was totally unfair that so much stuff that had been stressing me out a few weeks ago had been resolved – I was now receiving a regular salary from the company and I no longer had a part-time job laying claim to my soul; my credit cards and assorted bills were all paid off; the apartment and utilities had been transferred over to my name; I'd gotten my freakin' blood test results back from the doctor's office – and yet I was more miserable than ever. I focused on one breath at a time until the bell rang.

"Talk to me," Trowa murmured, dumping his books on the coffee table and scooting closer to me on the sofa. He'd just gotten back from his afternoon session at Sally's this afternoon and I hadn't moved during the entire hour and a half he'd been gone.

"Kiss me," I replied, craving something normal, something that made me feel. He complied and we spent the whole evening just lying on the sofa together sometimes kissing, sometimes nuzzling, sometimes groping or massaging each other through our clothes. It was like that night in Egypt all over again and I lost track of how many times I almost cried for no Goddamn reason at all.

I did a lot of things for no Goddamn reason at all.

"Sonuvabitch!" I snarled in the wake of shattering porcelain.

Trowa came charging down the hall, braced for battle. I saw him scan the room as he jogged toward me.

"Duo? What happened?" he asked, approaching the threshold of the kitchen.

I held up a hand. "Stop. Put some shoes on. There's glass all over the damn floor."

He didn't move. "Are you injured?"

I shook my head. Finally, he went to go put his boots on. He came back with mine, too, and crunched his way across the floor to where I was standing.

"Up onto the counter," he urged and, once I'd boosted myself up, he peeled off my socks and laced my shoes onto my bare feet. "What happened?" he repeated.

I had no idea. One minute, I'd been reaching into the cupboard for a coffee mug and the next…

I glanced past his shoulder at the bits of brightly painted white porcelain that had once been a Universe's #1 Dad mug. I'd gotten it for him for Father's Day when I was ten, right after my mom and Solo had died. I'd hoped it would cheer him up, but it'd just made him cry.

This morning, when I'd opened the cupboard door and seen it sitting there, I'd… "I just snapped," I whispered.

Sighing, Trowa wrapped his arms around me and I felt mine curl around his shoulders. He pulled me to the edge of the counter and pressed his ear to my heart.

"Sorry I gave you a skrik," I mumbled and he rasped out a rough chuckle, so I guess that meant I'd used the word correctly.

He helped me sweep up the mess. I ran the vacuum cleaner just to be sure we'd gotten everything. And then we had to gulp down our coffee before heading out the door for school. I was growing to resent school. The world was moving on. So Goddamn normal and sedate. I hated it. It was easier to just tune everything out and doodle in my notebook during lectures rather than wrestle with the sudden rage that would swoop down and make me do things like hurl coffee mugs at the floor.

The only time the fog really seemed to lift was when I was in the pool. These days, I no longer resented swim practice for wasting my time. I needed it. I could be angry and it felt _good._ I always started out drilling my way through the water, punching into the waves and dragging myself along, but when my arms got tired and the unfocused rage receded, I could enjoy the rhythm of it, the fluidity, the grace. It was almost like flying. Well, how I'd always imagined flying would be.

As the day of the swim meet drew nearer, I found myself better able to concentrate. Sensing that I wasn't gonna be a total waste of his time, Coach Otto started drilling me and clocking my times. If I'd made any improvements in the last two and a half months, he didn't say so. I was kinda past the point of caring about my starting technique and finishing times. Either I was gonna do well, or I wasn't. With only a handful of days to go, it was too late to do anything about it now.

"Hey, Dom. Hold up a minute before you head out."

"What's up, Rod?" I asked, stuffing my necktie into my blazer pocket. I'd had enough of the damn thing for one day. No way was I putting it back on when my coat was gonna cover me from neck to knees anyway.

"Can I get a ride with you to the swim meet?"

"Uh, sure. My car's a piece of shit, though. You know that, right?"

He shrugged. "It runs. That's one up on mine this week."

"What happened?"

"Transmission."

I winced. "Damn. But, hold up. You got that car new, like, two years ago."

"Yeah," he agreed, sending an accusatory glance in the direction of the showers where Alex and a couple of other guys were getting washed up now that Coach Otto had released them from practice. Rod told me the gory details: "I gave Alex a ride home on Tuesday. The moron was playing round and threw the gear into reverse while I was still driving down the road."

"Whoa," I remarked, stunned stupid by anyone doing something that dumb to a $25,000 car with a custom, 6-speed automatic transmission. "Are you shitting me?"

"If only. My dad is _pissed."_

I could imagine. Rod had one of the sweetest sets of wheels in the whole freakin' school: a screw-me-stupid red 2010 Ford Mustang.

"Anyway, I don't need a ride home. My family's coming up for the last round of finals in the afternoon, so I'll probably go out for dinner with them."

"Right. I'll pick you up at seven Sunday morning?"

"Thanks, man."

Well, I guess that pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn't have to worry about Trowa showing up and distracting me. The only sticky point was how I was gonna get possession of the car without making him suspicious. I'd have to be vague, imply that the event wasn't anything big, something that was for team members only. He'd never know the difference.

He was waiting in the parking lot, using the book light I'd dug outta my desk and given to him a couple weeks ago, doing his history homework. I didn't bother to knock on the hood or windows anymore. He always seemed to know exactly where I was right from the moment I stepped out of the school doors. True to form, he hit the door locks for me before I reached the handle.

"Hey, babe. American history put you to sleep yet?"

"Hm," he grunted softly with amusement. "How was your day?"

"Eh, fine." I shrugged, watching him close the textbook and toss it onto the backseat. "Hey, I've got a swim thing on Sunday—"

"State finals," Trowa supplied, putting the car in gear.

I blinked. Shit. "Who told you?"

"Hilde."

Damn it. I never should have let her and Dorothy stomp their way over to my car with me after school our first Wednesday back so they could meet Trowa. As far as long-awaited introductions went, it'd been pretty anticlimactic. Or, that's how it had seemed at the time. Clearly, there were repercussions to take into account: I was sensing that this little development was the first of many shockwaves. God only knew what else she and Dorothy might have talked about with Trowa while he was waiting for me to get done with practice on any given Tuesday or Thursday.

"Uh, right. Well, I'm gonna need the car. I gotta give Rod Walker a ride."

Trowa glanced at me. "We'll all go together."

Oh, super. "Don't, um, take this the wrong way, but if I know you're in the audience – er, y'know, watching me – I'm not gonna be able to concentrate." When he didn't say anything, I added, "At all." Again, more silence. I sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I understand," he finally said. His tone surprised me. He sounded… flattered.

"And you're OK with not being there?" I checked.

He glanced my way, smiling. "I asked you to tell me what you need."

Yeah, he had, but… "That was a while ago."

"There was never an expiration date on it."

Damn. I didn't deserve him. "You're awesome. You know that, right?"

He chuckled. "I'm learning from the best," he answered. His teeth flashed in the dark in the shape of a sexy smile.

I was still thinking about that smile and the kiss that had later followed it. And, yeah, I was also thinking about the totally hot fumbling around we'd done on the sofa that night. It was kind of amazing that we still hadn't gotten around to taking any of our clothes off yet. In some ways, it was more like mutual equipment maintenance than actual, y'know, sex. Trowa didn't seem to mind, but that splinter of something that had been bothering me since we'd left Vientiane was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Well, now was not the time to think about it.

"Hey, Dom. Thanks for the ride," Rod said on a yawn as he slid into the passenger seat. His steaming thermos joined mine in the plastic cup holders on the dash.

"No problem," I grunted. I'd spent all day yesterday at the office in one meeting after another and then I'd spent all evening trying to get as much homework as passably done as possible. So, yeah, I was tired and grouchy. Somehow, it hadn't helped that Trowa had merely fixed a thermos of coffee for me, handed me my car keys, and wished me luck today. I'd been bracing myself for one last-ditch attempt at convincing me to let him come along… or an ultimatum… or something.

There was no reason on Earth for me to be irritated because I'd gotten my way without a fight, but I was. I was flamin' torqued. I sighed. Fuck it; I was a headcase.

As we hit the highway out of town, Rod cleared his throat and segued clumsily, "So… is your girlfriend going to be there today?"

I gave him a sidelong stare. "Stop fishing, man. This conversation ain't happening."

He rolled his head toward the window on a sigh. "Damn. You are, like, the only guy in school who doesn't brag about getting laid. That's just not normal, man."

"So I've been told." I smirked.

"Even guys who don't get any brag about gettin' some," he continued with single-minded fixation.

"Dude. Are you seriously gonna make me ask you about _your _sex life just so you shut up about mine? Seriously?"

He laughed. "Sorry, Dom. It's just… it's driving everybody nuts trying to figure out who you're seeing."

I rolled my eyes. "The hell. How sad is that: _my _personal life is the biggest news around."

"Well, it wasn't like half the girls in school didn't wanna have your baby before, but now that you're in charge of your dad's company…"

I snorted. "Right," I mocked. "Half the girls in school might be after the Maxwell fortune – _that_ I could believe."

Rod stared at me. "You totally don't get it."

"Probably not," I allowed, and I wasn't really all that interested in getting it, either.

Rod gave up. Finally. "It just boggles the mind how you can be an effing genius about school stuff and then miss _this."_

Damn it. When he put it like that, I _really _wanted to know. Whatever. I'd ask Hilde later. I didn't want to stoop to Rod's level and start gossiping about _myself._ How lame was that.

This year, the state swim championships were up north at an Olympic training facility. The building was practically falling down around our ears, but the instant the scent of chlorine hit my nose, none of it mattered. I signed in, collected my participant number, and headed for the locker room so I could start getting my head together.

These things were always dream-like. I figured it was because there was so much that was familiar – the smell of the chlorine, the dimensions of the pool, the purposeful way people moved around – it was exactly like the swimming facilities at school. But there was this general wrongness about the place: the color of the walls was off; the layout was warped in strange ways; I didn't recognize the majority of the faces. I belonged here in this alien environment even though I shouldn't. Did that make sense? Probably not. I was a headcase, after all.

There weren't many people in the stands for the a.m. half of the state swim meet. These were just the qualification rounds. The exciting stuff would happen after lunchtime. And even then, the stands would only be getting warmed by parents and younger siblings who had gotten dragged away from their video games.

I claimed a locker and straddled a bench across from a full length mirror and then proceeded to ignore the universe as I rebraided my hair. I hated wearing it braided tight, but I had to get the whole damn mess stuffed up underneath my swim cap. Coach Otto thought I was nuts for keeping it long. Maybe I was. But I still remembered when my mom had used to braid it for me. Sometimes that was all I could clearly remember about her: the gentle pull of her fingers, the song she'd hum under her breath, that sort of thing. I couldn't cut my hair and lose that. I wouldn't. So I swam with a handicap. I didn't mean to let it get in my way today, though.

I was out there with the team warming up at ten a.m. I was slotted for the one-hundred-meter butterfly, the two-hundred-meter freestyle, the four-hundred-meter freestyle relay, and the two-hundred-meter medley relay. I splashed down the lane in Rod's wake.

The whole day was your typical hurry-up-and-wait. Tension stalked me as I waited for my first event to be called. It coiled around my legs and lungs as I braced myself for the shot of the starter pistol. And then it was a few seconds – under a minute – of excruciating action and striving and fighting and gliding and _just-a-little-faster-a-little-more-reach-God-damn-it!_ and the cut was announced.

I hated qualification rounds. All that effort and you're only halfway to the end. It sucked.

Rod passed me a cardboard pastry box of somewhat dried-out sandwiches when break time rolled around. I could hear more activity echoing over the water and into the locker room. The seats were filling up. The atmosphere was thickening with expectation, anticipation, and a whole slew of other "–T-I-O-N" words. My right leg bounced spasmodically as I forced myself to nibble through the sandwiches. I couldn't have told you what was in 'em – something mild like butter and cucumber slices, probably – but it didn't matter. We had thirty minutes to digest and then it was back in the water for the second warm-up. I tried not to think about the kids who would be sitting on the sidelines while their parents, who had driven out here to hopefully see them compete in the final rounds, watched kids they didn't know win stuff their kids hadn't.

Generally, I tried not to look too closely at the crowds. Today, I had no reason to look. No one I knew would be there. I focused on the final round of my first event: the butterfly. I secretly loved this race the best. Once you launched and set up a rhythm, it really was like flying. My heart was pounding as I braced myself for take-off.

The shot came.

I soared over and beneath the surface of the water. And then it was one booming, massive splash after another. A timely gasp of breath. Water churned at me from the lanes on either side but no, don't look left, don't look right. _Nothin' there to see,_ I coached myself and focused on the flight.

Touch the tiles, dive, spin, shove. I torpedoed through the water, coming up before the fifteen-meter line for another chance at an instant of zero G. The announcer's voice warped and wobbled. People cheered. The water surged and splashed. I breathed. My muscles burned. Cool water slid over my skin.

Another wall, dive, spin, shove, up for breath. Over halfway. Make it last. Don't burn out. Stay ahead. Am I behind? Can't see the guys two lanes over. Nothin' there to see anyway.

Touch, dive, spin, shove, last lap, last chance, last ounce of strength. Teeth-gritting, heart pumping, ears jamming with the cacophony of the splashing water, gargled announcements, Doppler-affected cheers and then—!

Touch-down. It was over.

I reached up and peeled my goggles off, simultaneously letting in the rest of the world. Noise poured into my ears and I just rode it out as I got reoriented to life beyond the finish line.

The guys on either side of me were listening intently for the results to be announced, looking toward the scoreboard. I just kept an eye on Coach Otto as I pulled myself out of the water. When he smiled, I knew I'd done well. When he fisted both hands in victory, I glanced up at the boards.

I'd come in first.

No freakin' way.

Damn. _Sweet._

I was on a roll after that. I managed fourth place in the individual freestyle and then our team came in sixth in the freestyle relay and third in the medley. Rod looked like he was about to explode, he was so damn happy: we'd made the podium. Well, not that there was actually a podium at the end of these things, but it was the thought that counted.

Not everyone was thrilled, though. Alex had his speedos in a wad about something, dodging my hand when I offered to help him out of the water at the end of the race, but whatever. He could ride that spandex until his balls turned blue and fell off for all I cared.

I couldn't keep the stupid grin off of my face.

To this day, I still wasn't sure what had brought me to the swim team, to hours spent drilling and weekends spent at the school gym doing weight training and trying not to irritate the varsity football players who could squash me like a bug. It wasn't as if swimming was much of a transferrable skill; I'd never take a mugger down with my backstroke technique. Nearest I could figure, the impulse to swim was in the same general category as the one that had drawn me up onto that tree branch over a green-eyed boy cleaning a rifle in the middle of the Egyptian desert.

The memory was almost enough to make me wish Trowa were here.

By the time I got done in the locker room – hair washed, dried (sort of), and comfortably rebraided – the diving competition was winding down.

"Good job, Dominic," Coach Otto congratulated me.

"Thanks to you, Coach," I replied, sounding like a freakin' suck-up, but I didn't care. This was the end of the road for me. I knew I wasn't good enough (or interested in being good enough) to compete on the university level. It was good to walk away with a ribbon or two.

When I stepped forward to acknowledge my first place performance in the hundred-meter butterfly and bowed my head so the medal could be placed around my neck, a shrill whistle pierced the generic applause. It was one of those sounds that could travel for miles over rolling countryside and it rang out like a gunshot here in the enclosed space. I reacted. Looking up from shaking the presenter's hand, I found myself meeting a familiar green gaze half concealed by brown hair: Trowa.

Oh… my… God.

He was _here._

I blinked. I reminded myself to breathe.

And then a motion on Trowa's left explained it all; Hilde had an arm around Dorothy as she waved and cheered. Dorothy gave me a smirk and a thumbs-up.

Holy freakin' cow. My friends had driven two frickin' hours all the way out here just to watch the swim competition. No, scratch that. They'd driven two frickin' hours to watch my swim meet _anonymously,_ honoring my request that I be left to do this alone because I'd flub it if I knew they were watching.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to kick their respective asses or… not.

I glanced at Trowa again. It was hard to be angry when he was giving me that damn sexy smile of his. Shit. He almost looked – I dunno – proud of me? In love with me? Both?

Suddenly, I zeroed in on that splinter that had been jabbing me over and over again during the past seven weeks: Trowa was in love with me and I couldn't bring myself to cop to being his boyfriend in public. He deserved that. He deserved someone who wasn't afraid to be with him and damn what anyone else thought of it. Was that why I hadn't shared my blood test results? Why we never made it beyond the sofa or out of our clothes?

Damn. For the record, the awards stage of a state championship tournament was _not _the place to be having an epiphany.

I got through the team photos by smiling my fool ass off as fakely as possible. Once we did the whole national anthem closing deal, pandemonium broke out: parents stampeded for the main entrance and leaned over the railing between the stands and the pool, calling to their kids. I waved to Trowa and gestured in the direction of the parking lot. He nodded and held up his cell phone. Yeah. That'd probably be best.

I checked with Rod and he confirmed that he was gonna catch a ride with his parents. I looked in the direction he indicated and gawked at Miles and Sally standing off to the side beside Mr. and Mrs. Walker. Christ, how many damn spectators in this building knew me personally? Never mind. I didn't wanna know.

Shaking my head, laughing at my own idiocy and the immovable monster that fate was, I collected my gear from the locker room and dialed Trowa's cell phone.

"Where did you park?" he asked right off the bat.

I let out a breath in relief. Was it weird that I didn't want to talk about the swim meet? Maybe. Probably. To hell with it. I visualized the parking lot in my mind's eye and talked him over the lamppost nearest my space.

"I see it," he told me.

"Did you bring the spare set of keys?"

"Of course."

"Sweet. I'll be there just as soon as I crank open a can of whoop ass on this crowd."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry I'll miss it."

"I bet you are." On that note, I hung up and ran the gauntlet through the main lobby. I got through ignored, but had to dodge a couple of enthusiastically swinging elbows and a few sprinting and stumbling bodies. Jeez. You'd think it was New Year's Eve at Times Square or something.

Sighing, shaking my head at the antics of grown adults who really ought to know better than to act like they were their kids' age, I finally burst my way out of the building and into the snowy parking lot. I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and started jogging down the line of cars. I could see Trowa sitting in the driver's seat of my Dodge P.O.S. He probably already had the heater running. The damn car was always more cooperative when he was in the driver's seat. It wasn't freakin' fair.

Speaking of injustices, I had no idea what I was gonna say to him about that sneaky maneuver he'd pulled off today with Hilde and Dorothy's help. I didn't see either girls' car, but I was sure one of them was parked around here somewhere…

"Hey, Dominic!"

I slowed down to a saunter and turned toward the sound of my name. "Dude! Alex!" I acknowledged, confused. What the hell was he doing chasing me down in the parking lot when I'd been beneath his notice in the damn pool? "What's up?"

"Wanna talk to you about something."

"Shoot, man," I invited. I was still moving in the direction of my car, one backward-step at a time. Sure, I was mildly curious about what he wanted to say – maybe some sort of apology for being an ass after the medley? – but it was freakin' _freezing _out here and, with my slightly-damp hair, I was really noticing it.

"You're the big cheese now. Congratulations."

Whoa, hold up. How did winning one piddly event make me the big cheese? "Huh?"

"Your dad left you the company, right?"

"Oh, that. Yeah." I could feel my high from both the swim meet victories and finding Trowa in the audience fizzle into over-done, carbonized toast. What a way to kill the mood. Sheesh.

Alex continued, drawing closer, "Must feel really great."

"What are you talking about?" If he didn't get to the damn point soon, I was gonna get irritated. Like, _officially._

He sneered. "I'm talking about having other people's careers in the palm of your hand." He lifted a gloved hand and curled his fingers in until he made a fist. The leather gloves creaked.

"Actually, that would be the sucktastic part." What kind of megalomaniac would get off on that kind of power trip, anyway? Hold up. I believe that question just answered itself. But seriously, why the hell was Alex so damn interested in my freakin' job description anyway?

When I asked him that very question, his expression hardened. "Funny you should say that," Alex replied.

"Ask him," someone urged. I glanced behind me and watched as Josh Mueller leaned up against the driver's side door of my car, blocking Trowa in. "Go on." He nodded for Alex to drop whatever bombshell he was carrying.

"Ask me what?" I replied warily, looking back at Alex and hating how off-balance I was suddenly feeling.

"You canned my dad's promotion."

"His what?" Promotion? That's what this hostility was all about? A promotion that I hadn't even known existed?

"See?" Mueller smirked. "I told you he'd deny it."

I groped for a conversational toehold: "What exactly am I denying here, guys?"

"My dad worked his ass off for Maxwell Limited for twenty years," Alex informed me. "And just when he was about to be named head of the New York branch, you went and reneged the deal."

"What freakin' deal?"

"Your dad promised him that position!"

This was news to me. "Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about." But if he was telling me what I thought he was telling me – and if he was right – then this was the best news I'd gotten since Marshall had read my dad's will. I could go ahead with the promotion for Alex's dad and keep the head of the London office in her position, _and then_ I could get on with being a college kid. Oh my God. My prayers had been answered. "Alex, if you're right about this—"

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm right! Are you calling my dad a liar?"

"What? No, I—"

"You sonuvabitch!" Alex hissed.

I gawped at him. How the hell had this conversation gotten turned around so ass-backwards so damn fast?

I didn't have time to contemplate the answer to that. In the next instant, Alex's fist was on a collision course with my face. I ducked, dancing and skidding back toward the passenger's side door of the car.

"You—!" Alex was too incensed for words. I dodged a right hook – Solo had always been partial to those – and tried to gain some distance between us by swinging my gym bag at his chest. He stumbled back a step. Distantly, I heard the sound of a car window buzzing down.

Alex came at me a third time. Right, this was starting to get old. I stepped into it and he pounded my shoulder awkwardly. I introduced my fist to his diaphragm. He wheezed. I took a step back and came up short against the side of my own car.

The sound of flesh smashing into metal jerked my attention over to Mueller. I was just in time to watch his forehead finish its bounce off of the roof of the car. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped out of sight. I glanced down at Trowa and saw him use his grip on Mueller's jacket through the open window to shove him away from the vehicle. He then threw his other arm out across the passenger's seat, aiming for the handle. I flinched back reflexively as Trowa shoved the door open, bashing it into Alex, who was just getting his second wind. The impact sent him crashing into the neighboring car which a very large and very unavoidable pickup truck.

"Get in," Trowa ordered.

I got in.

He pulled out with only a cursory glance in the rear view mirror. I looked back over my shoulder and grimaced. Both Alex and Mueller were out cold, sprawled in the snow, and it was getting dark out. "Shit. D'you really think we should just leave them there?"

"Yes."

I didn't dare argue with the look on his face. Holy fuck. He looked ready to stop the car, back up over their prone bodies, and then get out and tear them limb from limb before stomping them into preppy boy Slurpee juice. "They might end up castrated via hypothermia," I heard myself say.

Trowa barked out a laugh. "The American dream."

That made _me _bark out a laugh. I looked back once more and I thought I saw Alex twitch before we turned down the parking lot aisle and exited onto the street.

"Put your seatbelt on," Trowa whispered.

I startled and looked at him.

"Please," he added.

"Oh, right. Yeah." I buckled up. After a long moment, I finally blinked, smiled, and said, "Dude, Tro. You totally made my piece-of-shit car kick both their asses. _Awesome!"_

He threw back his head and laughed, louder and longer this time. "My pleasure."

I believed it, too.

"What was that about?" he asked after I wound down.

I shook my head. "Business stuff, if you can believe it."

He glanced my way. "Not because of…?"

"Because of what?"

He recurled his fingers around the steering wheel. Speaking through gritted teeth, he grated, "Not because you're with me?"

"What? No." No, only Hilde and Dorothy knew there was something between Trowa and me. Oh, and Sally because the woman had freakin' x-ray vision. And Marshall Noventa had probably figured it out (or been briefed on it by Thomas Darlian). But I hadn't actually told anyone how I felt about Trowa or what we were to each other. Not a soul. Suddenly, I was ashamed of myself for that. To distract myself, I gave Trowa a summary of Alex's accusations.

A moment of contemplative silence swelled up in the car after I got through the retelling. "What are you going to do about it?" he finally asked.

I sighed. "I guess I'll be calling my dad's secretary during lunch on Monday and requesting whatever he's got on this promotion thing." Then, following that thought, I added, "And I guess I'll be having a conversation with Robert Ruthford about his son. The guy needs to know…" I trailed off with a wince. What fun that little chat that was gonna be: _"Hey, man. Your son totally talked trash to me and tried to kick my ass 'cuz he thought I wasn't gonna give you the leg-up my dad promised you."_ Oh, super. But it had to be done. Alex was a loose cannon and Mueller was at the helm. How scary was that? Yeesh.

"Are you going to give him the promotion if it's legitimate?"

I nodded. "I'll have to order an official performance review if it hasn't been done already, but yeah. It solves a lot of problems."

"Does it?"

"No, not really," I admitted, "but it might push 'em back until I graduate from college." And, I supposed that was the best I could hope for.

At the highway on-ramp intersection, Trowa braked to a full and complete stop and then turned to me. His green eyes sparkled in the waning light. "You were brilliant today. Both in the car park and… before. Fokken brilliant."

"Yeah? Thanks, babe." I reached out a hand to his cheek and smoothed my thumb over his skin. His eyelids fluttered down and he let out a breath, leaning into my touch. Was this the first time I'd touched him in public here in the States? Maybe it was. "I think I owe you a kiss for that," I whispered.

He opened his eyes and smiled. "I'll collect when we get home."

And whoo-boy, he sure did. Two hours of driving did nothing to distract him from my promise. The door shut behind us; Trowa threw the deadbolt into place and then wrapped me up in his arms, kissing the hell outta me right there on the welcome mat.

"You were amazing," he growled some minutes and surging hot tongue action later. His insistent nuzzling into my collar made me shiver and sweat with arousal.

My fingers slid along the smooth fabric of his down coat. It was like trying to grasp shoulders made of clouds. It irritated me and that weird feeling of being off-balance returned. "I was?"

"You _are,"_ he corrected himself, "amazing, Duo."

"Thanks for being there today," I replied, grinning. "Thanks for not listening when I asked you not to come."

"You told me you needed to think you were alone. You never asked me not to come."

He was right. Damn. I'd totally left him a loophole. "Are you sure you don't wanna be a lawyer?" I checked. "Because I'm sensing some definite, underhanded potential awesome, here."

He leaned back until our noses were touching and his bangs were tickling my cheek. "I think I do all right at being your security goon," he murmured.

My grin felt crooked so that probably meant that it was. "Yeah. You rock at that. Total credit where it's due."

He brushed the back of his knuckles over my cheek. "You're one hell of a fighter," he praised softly. "And you swim like…" He shook his head, clearly at a loss for words.

"Like?" I prompted nervously, needing to know his thoughts on this more than anything.

"Yah," he replied. "I liked it very much."

He kissed me again, softly and reverently, holding me close. Standing there in the foyer, still wearing my snow boots and wool coat, I'd never felt more loved.

And it was time I came clean with him about that. Long past time.

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NOTES:

I've never been involved in school sports or sporting events (aside from my marching and pep band years), and I couldn't find much on how swim meets generally go, so yup. Lots of Artistic License in this part.

And if you wanna see Trowa kicking ass as a lawyer, you MUST read Clara Barton's A Little Less Normal. But mind the rating and warnings, m'kay?

AND! Thank you to all the fantastic, wonderful people who left me reviews and feedback on Team Work, Part 1! Several comments were especially thought-provoking and highlighted things I needed to keep in mind. Thanks to you, I am staying focused and organized. You all are AWESOME.


	10. Team Work, Part 3

**Warnings:** language, YAOI (male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

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Recommended music for _Team Work, Part 3_ - "Endlessly" by The Cab

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Just in case you missed the warning, this chapter contains **SEX**. (It's explicit, but tactfully written, I hope.)

AND A BIG BIG THANK YOU to Solace Requiem for being awesome all over this story. "Team Work" would not have been written the way it was without you, my dear.

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**Team Work, Part 3** (Duo POV)

We crashed on the sofa that night. Trowa picked a movie, but I couldn't have told you what it was. I was wiped out from the swim meet so I just leaned back against his chest and snuggled into his arms. His cheek pressed against my hair as actors delivered lines of dialog and stuff happened on the TV screen.

The next day, he dropped me off at school looking easily twice as alert as usual. "Call me if you need me," he urged.

"I always have," I replied and daringly gave his jean-covered thigh a squeeze before I hopped outta the car. He hissed in reaction, but I already had both feet on the slick asphalt and was shutting the door behind me. The look on his face promised delicious retaliation. I winked.

Since I didn't have any classes with either Alex or Mueller, it was a cinch avoiding them. At lunchtime, I grilled my dad's poor secretary over the phone about this supposed promotion… which was legitimate, evidently.

"Y'know, it might have been helpful if I'd known about this a little sooner," I chastised him. And then I cut into his litany of apologies with one of my own, "No, I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say. I'm taking my bad day out on you, man."

Silence echoed back to me. Apparently, he'd never had a boss talk to him like that. Oh yeah, working for me was bound to be a thrill-a-minute.

"Just send over copies of that stuff, will you? Contracts, performance reviews, personnel files, whatever I need to look at and sign to get it done."

"Yes, sir."

"Now don't hang up on me," I hurriedly added. "Transfer me to Robert Ruthford's office first."

He did and then I started our chat by asking, point blank, "Do you want to be head of the New York office?"

I didn't know shit about offering promotions or conducting job interviews and I wasn't even sure if my dad had trusted this guy completely – I sure as hell didn't; I didn't even know him – but he didn't talk down to me and he didn't hesitate to answer my questions about his goals for the future.

"Look," I said, noting the time. I had five minutes before my next class began and I needed to buy something from the cafeteria shop to stuff my face with before I sat down at my desk. "Alex got in my face about this yesterday. If he keeps it up, it's gonna make it hard for me to trust you."

"Alex did _what?"_

I sighed; his horrified reaction squashed the niggling suspicion that Ruthford had somehow egged his son on in his hate campaign. "I don't really have time to get into the details right now, but Josh Mueller probably put him up to it. Just talk to Alex about your work and this promotion deal. We need to get this straightened out and he's not gonna listen to me."

"I'll speak with him. I'm very sorry if he—"

I didn't wanna be rude, but I hated it when parents apologized for the shit their kids did, so I interrupted him: "He clued me in to the fact that my dad had promised you a promotion. I needed to know that. He just didn't need to gang up on me with his buddy, Mueller, to do it."

I felt like a total tattle-tale, but – Goddamn it – I did not have the time or the patience to sort this out. Alex was not gonna be a blip on my radar. I wasn't gonna _let_ him be a blip on my radar. Clearly, the miscommunication was between him and his father. I was not gonna get involved.

Ruthford promised to handle it and, if he did… well, it wouldn't hurt his chances with regards to me signing off on that promotion.

I bought a couple of granola bars, nodded to a puzzled-looking Hilde, and headed for class. She was probably wondering why I hadn't read her the riot act for telling Trowa about the swim championships and then conspiring to give him a ride there. Fuck it. I had French III to worry about.

This was yet another aspect of Trowa's legacy: I hadn't just signed up for the swim team; I'd started taking French. He still didn't know about that. Someday, maybe I'd surprise him by starting up a conversation with: _"Que veux-tu pour ton anniversaire, mon amour?"_

Which made me wonder just what Trowa _would _want for his birthday…

I could have asked for Hilde's two cents on the issue, but I didn't have time to hang around after school chatting today. "Tro's picking me up and then he's got something to do so I gotta boogie," I run-on-sentenced at her in passing.

"Hey, at least tell me one thing!" she protested, hurrying after me.

"What?" I demanded, hustling down the steps.

"Are you mad?"

"Mad like a fox!"

"No, doofus! Are you mad because I told Trowa about the swim meet and gave him a ride up there?"

I paused and gave her a grin. "No, Hils. I'm not mad. Thanks for that."

She smiled and let out a relieved breath.

"Now I really gotta run!" This time, she let me go.

"Where's the fire?" Trowa asked as I dive-bombed into the passenger's seat.

"No idea," I replied. "I just don't wanna make you late for Sally's."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure she'd understand."

"How's that going, by the way?" I asked.

He shrugged. "She has me write summaries of my history lectures." His face twitched into a slight grimace.

I cackled. "Just wait until you get around to the five-paragraph, standard essay. So much fun."

"What a jol. I can hardly wait."

And, speaking of waiting, I figured he'd done enough of that. As we rode the elevator up to Sally's floor, I cleared my throat and remarked, "Uh, I had to get a physical before I could go to the swim meet. It's a standard procedure thing."

Trowa's gaze slid in my direction. "Yah?" he prompted when I just let the statement hang there.

I had to glance away from his searching look. "And… I got my blood test done at the same time."

He stiffened.

I continued, awkward as hell and face flaming, "I'm clean. All negative, I mean." I cleared my throat again.

Before I could ask, he volunteered, "As well. I had one done at the school."

I nodded, still staring at the elevator doors. "Yeah, it's a nice school. The health center really sold me on it, plus the career guidance—"

"Bloody hell, Duo!" Trowa suddenly swore. "You're telling me this in the bloody lift, on my way to fokken _tutoring?"_

I tried to suppress my rueful smile. "I guess my timing still needs some work, huh?"

"You could say that."

I wheezed out a laugh.

"Duo…"

The elevator was slowing. The doors would be opening any moment. Trowa reached out and punched the Emergency Stop button.

I gaped. "What—?"

Trowa answered with actions rather than words, crowding me against the wall and kissing me hard and deep. His hands tore at my coat buttons and – holy fuck – he was rubbing against me, rocking in a way that was electrifying my entire body, making me sweat and tingle and _harden—!_

He pulled back as suddenly as he'd attacked. We were both panting, wanting, throbbing.

"I could almost hate you for this," he told me, but his tone was soft and teasing, a wading pool left in the wake of a tsunami.

I jumped in with both feet. "What are my odds?"

"Seventy percent," he replied, smirking.

I countered, "I can do a lot with thirty."

He brushed his lips against mine and breathed, "I'm looking forward to it."

Then he reached out and disengaged the Emergency Stop. When the doors slid open and he stepped out into the hall, I called, "Hey, don't forget to turn your phone back on when you're done."

He paused and looked back at me. "It's always on. What are you scheming?"

I smirked. "You'll see." Then I hit the Close Door button and finished the journey home.

I dumped my stuff on the floor, kicked off my shoes, hung up my coat, went to my room and just… had a moment.

Seriously, what was I thinking? Was I really ready for this? Was I ready to move past our secretive fumbling and take that Next Step?

Maybe. Maybe not. But I _wanted _to be ready and the only way I was gonna know if I actually _was_ ready was to try. It still scared the hell outta me, but there was no Goddamn way I was gonna have sex with Trowa and then pretend like we were just roommates or good buddies or something afterwards. I was already ashamed of myself for getting off with him on the sofa time and time again over the past five weeks and acting like I'd just scratched a freakin' itch.

It was a miracle Trowa hadn't belted me for being such an ass.

My selfish dick impersonation was now officially over and done with, but the real question was whether I was ready to be Trowa's boyfriend _in public._ It was time for me to answer the third question he'd asked on our last morning in Vientiane: was I gonna give him a chance? My answer was (and always had been) a resounding _yes._ Still, it was one thing to fantasize about it and another thing to actually _do _it.

Not that Trowa seemed to have a problem with it, but then I was the headcase, here. In fact, he was totally waiting on me to get my shit together: the surprise visit to my school on that first day, the hickeys, how paranoid he was of coming on too strong, how he usually kept an arm around me when we were hanging out on the sofa, how he always bumped my elbow as I made coffee and he got the cups out in the mornings… little stuff like that. Sonuvabitch. I totally deserved to get my ass kicked for blithely ignoring all the signs. Not that Trowa was the type to make me a cut-out Valentine's Day card as a declaration of his eternal devotion, but he'd certainly spelled it out a dozen other ways.

And, this was the kicker: I _wanted _him to keep it up. I didn't want to discourage him or put him off. I wanted to _go for it: _all Trowa, all the time; 24/7. I was _not_ gonna just sleep with him and then not own up to it after the fact.

Which brought me back to the whole can-I-really-handle-this issue. Damn it.

With a sigh, I sat down on my rumpled bed – I'd never seen a point in making the bed; I mean, you're just gonna mess it up anyway in a few hours so why bother? – and clasped my hands between my knees. Elbows braced on my thighs, I thought about what had been holding me back: I was afraid that people would hate me because I was with Trowa. Hell, I was afraid they'd hate _Trowa._ I didn't want to screw up his future by subjecting him to prejudice before he'd even figured out what he wanted to do with his life. I didn't want to hurt him like that, but Trowa was a big boy and he undoubtedly suspected what he'd be facing if he was my boyfriend. A smart guy like him would know the risks and I trusted his judgment.

Besides, it wasn't as if people needed a legitimate excuse (or even bigotry or intolerance) to make our lives miserable and difficult. Alex and Mueller had already proven that. If someone wanted to hate either or both of us, they'd find a reason and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

So, really, it didn't matter what the whole damn world thought. I wasn't going to let them ruin things between Trowa and me. I wanted to be with him. End of discussion.

Sighing, I stood up and peeled off my school uniform and draped it over its usual place of dubious honor: my desk chair. Standing in my cluttered room in my underwear, I checked the time. Trowa wouldn't be back for something like an hour. I pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and decided to do something torturous. Something as torturous as Trowa's tutoring session undoubtedly was: I cleaned. I vacuumed the apartment. I emptied and reloaded the dishwasher. Yes, I even attacked the bathroom with rubber gloves and a long-handled brush. I dusted… until I got too bored with it to care. At least the TV screen was de-fuzzed. Clearly, that was top priority.

When I ran out of stuff to do, I splashed some cold water on my face and retreated to my room. I sat back down on the bed and pulled the tie off of the end of my braid. With one hand, I began picking apart the weave. With the other, I pulled out my cell phone and opened a text message window.

I took a deep breath and began. /Hypothetically speaking, if you came home and found me naked in bed, what would you do?/

Gritting my teeth, I sent the message. I then forced myself to set the phone down on the bedside bureau. Even if he got the message right now, he wouldn't reply right away. He'd have to wait for the end of his lesson and I wasn't gonna sit here, phone in hand, obsessing.

I brushed out my hair slowly, contemplating what I was about to do. Imagining it was both terrifying and almost painfully arousing.

I was startled out of my porny daze when my phone buzzed about ten minutes later with an incoming message. It was from Trowa.

/Hypothetically speaking? Die of lust./

I laughed. The sound was too harsh but oh God had I needed that. Grinning, I pulled my T-shirt off and chucked it in the direction of my closet. /That wouldn't be very, um, helpful./ I sent that reply and clutched my phone in the nerve-wracking silence.

/What would you prefer?/

I took a deep breath. Right. Now we came to it: it was time to tell him what I wanted. /Being hard would be a good start./

/Not an issue./

Damn. So he was already, uh, responding. Come to think of it, so was I. /And I'd want mouth and hands in good working order./ I flushed so badly I started sweating; I almost couldn't believe I was having this conversation with him.

/Where would you graft them?/

_Graft._ Holy fuck that sounded hot. My hormones roared their approval, shoving anxiety and discomfort into the bedroom closet and bracing the door shut with a sturdy chair.

I replied. /Wherever they wanted to go./ There. I'd said it.

Trowa confirmed it. /No limits on those?/

/None. What about you?/

/No limits./

Yeah, I could believe that. Heart pounding in my chest, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, which made me realize my jeans weren't exactly comfortable. I took them off and kicked them away. Before I could lose my inertial courage, the socks and underwear got tossed aside, too. But I couldn't bring myself to just sit here buck naked. I pulled the sheet over my legs and hips.

OK. I could do this.

My phone buzzed again.

/Duo, are you sure?/

/Yes./ Thank God you couldn't stutter in a text message.

I heard his key in the door.

Suddenly, the "no limits" comment seemed open to way too much interpretation. Hurriedly, I texted, /I'm just not up for all the way./

/All the way?/ he checked. I was waiting for the sound of the door opening, holding my breath for it… nothing.

Jaw clenched, I fought against the apocalyptic embarrassment and just came out and said it: /You in me, or the other way around. Not yet./

/But my mouth is all right?/

God, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. He'd actually typed that out. Oh, damn. Right, this anxiety was getting old. It was time to kick it to the curb for the trash collectors to take away. Assembling my determination, I purposefully envisioned what Trowa had implied. I almost didn't notice it when I licked my lips as I imagined Trowa's mouth _there, _panting hot breaths before he swallowed me down. Was I gonna be OK with that? The answer was most definitely— /YES./

Finally, the apartment door opened. I tensed. I forced myself to relax. With every tiny sound of Trowa setting down his bag, hanging up his coat, untying his boot laces, I tensed again. And, every time I caught myself doing it, I focused on that mind-blowing visual of him, me, us, touching each other like _real _lovers. Christ, I wanted that.

I heard him moving around, checking the living room and the kitchen. Finally, his footsteps paused outside my door.

"Duo?" he called softly.

I took a deep breath. "It's open."

I watched the knob rotate, turning so slowly it was as if time had been cut to a fraction of its normal speed. And then the bottom edge of the door was brushing against the carpet fibers. I looked up, hair flowing around my bare shoulders and my cell phone still clutched in my hands.

Trowa inhaled sharply and then reached out and grabbed the doorframe.

"Are you OK?" I checked, wondering if I'd ditched my clothes too soon.

He nodded once. "You let your hair down."

"Oh." How interesting that it was a factor. "Well, I… I…" My face flamed. Damn it, why was it so hard to talk about this shit? I bent my head down to my cell phone and texted the words that I couldn't say. /I want this to be real, so this is me. Just me. I'm not gonna hide behind my school uniform and stuff anymore./

I sent the message. Trowa's phone buzzed in his hand. I watched him read my explanation. He closed his eyes and I swear I could almost see a shudder work its way through him. When he opened them again, he studied me like he was preparing to take an exam and I was the topic. Yes, things were looking up. That was definite interest I was seeing in his eyes, but then a flicker of unease touched his features. What the hell was the problem now? I thought _I _was supposed to be the one with the issues, here. My free hand fisted in the sheet.

For a moment, I thought he was going to just come right out and say whatever was on his mind, but he followed my example, turning back to his phone to text me. /I'm not like you. I have a lot of scars./

He was insane if he really thought I'd care about that. Well, I supposed it was up to me to prove it to him. I focused on that single purpose, nominated it as my new source of strength and steadied myself against it. I put my conversation aid on the bureau and then I held out a hand, gesturing him closer.

"Show me." I would be the judge of how horrible his scars were, and I doubted they were all that horrible. He was just worrying too much.

He moved into the room, closing the door behind him. I watched as he crossed toward the nightstand and set his phone down beside mine. I think I saw his hand tremble, but no. It must have been my imagination.

Our gazes locked as he straightened. And then he grasped the hem of his U of D sweatshirt and the long-sleeved T-shirt underneath and drew both up over his head. I didn't even hear it when they hit the floor; I was already preoccupied. Sure enough, there was a scar on his chest, a vicious one running left to right, just below his ribcage and under his heart. I reached out and traced it with my fingertips. He sucked in a breath as I measured it. It was over six inches long, straight and faded.

"What did this?" I asked.

"A machete," he replied.

"How old were you?"

"Nine or ten." I traced the aged injury from one end to the other, memorizing it, picturing Trowa as a little boy cut open and bleeding, trying to clamp the wound shut as his blood soaked his T-shirt and vest. He'd nearly been disemboweled. Just imagining it scared the bejesus outta me. Goddamn but I wanted to kill someone.

"It didn't happen a second time," I observed instead of swearing to hunt down and dismember the sonuvabitch who'd done this to him when he was just a little kid.

He explained in a soft, factual tone: "I learned to be more careful."

And then he gently thrust my hand away. I looked up, a protest on the tip of my tongue, but his eyes stopped me. He watched me like this was his last chance to… I dunno. To see me wanting to touch him, maybe? But that made no sense whatsoever.

He reluctantly turned around.

My mouth fell open. Oh… my… God. His back...!

I stood up and abandoned the sheet. I was standing here bare-assed naked, but how could I care about that when _his back…!_

I reached out and touched the raised, darkened, and discolored flesh. Trowa stiffened.

"Can I?" I asked, pausing until I got permission. He nodded.

"Holy shit," I breathed, tracing the damaged skin. On his left shoulder blade, several deep gouges had scarred over heavily, creating slashing, arching lines over skin that looked like it had been splashed by something toxic and flammable just before being set alight. The scars spanned his entire scapula, from the edge of his spine to the bony tip of his shoulder joint. They were old. As he'd grown, the skin had been pulled tightly in places, creating stretch marks in the areas covered by thinner, softer scar tissue.

I had the sudden, crazy image of my Trowa as an angel. I could almost see the Devil himself tearing his wing out at the joint with a hand of fire and brimstone and molten cruelty.

It was gruesome.

So, yeah, left side was bad.

The right side was worse.

"Trowa…" I breathed, smoothing my hand over the deeper and more plentiful gouges, the splash-pattern that somehow curled and plumed just like ragged feathers – so many feathers, large and small – all down his back. From his shoulder to just above his waist. The landscape of his skin made me think of those fossilized dinosaur remains crushed beneath river slate and put on display in museums.

If the Devil had gleefully torn out Trowa's left wing, he'd surpassed himself with the right, setting it on fire and branding his victim with it, gifting him with a permanent reminder of what had been ripped away.

I traced the edge of those fossil-feathers. Trowa shivered hard.

"I can put a shirt on," he offered.

"What? No!" I pulled myself away from the fascinating territory in front of me. "Don't even think about it. These scars are… _wicked."_

Trowa startled, his chin jerking toward me. "What?"

"Sorry," I said, wincing as I realized how that must have sounded. Maybe being an insensitive dick was a personality trait that I was gonna have to learn to live with. "It must've hurt like a mother…!"

"I don't remember," he confessed.

"Oh, uh, in that case…" Shit. Now what? Could I get away with telling him how awesome they were without sounding like a complete jerk-wad? Probably not. I sighed, petting his back from shoulder to waist. "Wow," I sighed.

"You… like them?"

"Better than a tattoo," I affirmed, relieved that he'd been the one to say the words. I traced the spine of one not-feather. "Don't tell me this is the first time anyone's told you how sexy your scars are."

His silence spoke for him.

"Damn," I said, and then, unable to resist, I leaned forward and placed an open-mouthed kiss to a spot where normal skin met aged tissue.

"Ahh!" His gasp just about echoed in the room. His spine curved; his back muscles bunched; his hips twitched. God _damn_ he was sensitive. I traced another scar, scraping a bit with my nails. He actually whined.

"You are incredibly sexy," I repeated, reaching around and tracing the machete scar. Somehow, I hadn't noticed it before when I'd had my hands under his shirt. I guess I'd been distracted by other things at the time. There was nothing distracting me now, not from the seriousness of these old injuries or the terror of what might-have-been.

"How many times did I almost never meet you?" I whispered against his skin.

It wasn't my imagination that he shuddered this time. I felt it. I heard him swallow thickly.

"This happened before your troupe took you in?" I asked, running my palm over his back as if I could read the story of his scars from touch alone.

"Yah. An explosion. It took out a shopping complex. I was thrown clear. I was maybe two or three years old."

_He could have died._

He didn't say the words, but they were there and they took a minute to sink in, but when they finally did…

Suddenly, I was completely overwhelmed by how _fragile_ he was. Jesus Christ, I couldn't even begin to comprehend how a toddler had survived the wounds that had left _these_ scars. And even though I was standing here totally _naked,_ all I wanted was to march over the Goddamn Atlantic Ocean and fucking obliterate the bastards who'd planted that damned bomb. A burning, seething, merciless darkness rolled up from somewhere deep inside me. "You could've died."

I petted his marred and maimed skin, careful to keep my touch light even as I growled, "An' that makes me wanna kill the fuckers who are responsible for doing this to you."

Oh what hellish torment I would give them if only I knew their names, their faces. Their fates would be mine to toy with as I liked. Death would be too kind for the likes of them. I would have their blood, their pain, their fear, their pleas for mercy—!

I startled when I felt Trowa's fingers grip my hand. I was clutching the machete scar as if it were still gaping open, gushing blood.

"It's over," he told me. "I'm fine."

I let out the breath that was burning me up from the inside out. Leaning my forehead against his shoulder, I just inhaled and exhaled, letting his warmth and scent calm me.

I calmed, but I found no peace. Behind my closed eyelids, I pictured the shopping mall. For some reason, it was a beautiful day. People were laughing. Trowa's father was holding the glass door open for his wife with one hand and was carrying his young son perched on his hip with the other. And then—

BANG!

Chaos. Dust. Smoke. Silence. Screams. Fire.

In my mind, Trowa had been blown clear, perhaps landing on a patch of landscaped grass, unconscious and with flames licking at his small back, shards of bloody glass sticking out of his tattered shirt like spines. Alone and helpless and irreparably injured… and his parents trapped inside the rubble with the flames and fumes. What a horrific way to die. What a terrible way to lose your entire family.

"Jesus." I mouthed the torn skin across his shoulders. I'd been wrong about his scars not being horrible; they were… but for different reasons than I'd anticipated.

His chest expanded as he took a fortifying breath before reaching for the front of his pants. "There's more."

I wasn't sure how much more I could take. It was all I could do to keep from… from… I dunno. The fury deep inside me, clawing and gnashing its teeth, was starting to freak me out. I took a moment to center and fortify myself. After a moment, I felt… well, not _fine _but in control.

Good enough.

When I stepped back, I kept my palm on his shoulder. I wasn't about to let him go now. "OK."

I listened to the zipper grit and growl its way down and then Trowa's hands were shoving at his jeans and underwear. When the fabric bunched around his hips, I took over and pulled it the rest of the way off. I had to force myself not to stare at his ass – which was unbelievably perfect – and look for the other scars he wanted to show me. There were smaller marks – scratches, punctures, possibly even animal or insect bites – but I didn't think he'd been talking about those. Hell, I had my share of similar ones from skidding over gravel on my elbows and knees as a kid. Plus the mementos from the standard close encounters of the outdoor kind.

What I think he wanted me to see was the long scar angled across the back of his left thigh. Someone had tried to hamstring him. And there was a gory starburst on the back of one calf: an exit wound from a bullet. I touched those so he'd know that I'd found them.

"Machete again?" I asked, petting the scar on his thigh.

"Hunting knife."

It wasn't as faded as the machete scar, which meant it was more recent. I couldn't bring myself to ask when he'd gotten it.

"Rifle or pistol?" I inquired of the gunshot wound.

"A pistol, likely."

He didn't even know for sure. Oh my God. Was I looking at the evidence of someone _sniping _at him one moonlit night? Or was this the result of a firefight? How close had the other bullets come to hitting him in the chaos?

Fuck. I couldn't deal with this.

I took another deep breath and, by a sheer act of will, I focused on the positives. He was alive and he _had_ learned from his mistakes: there were no repeats of scars from the same weapon or in the same general location. Thankful that he was all right and here with me, I leaned forward and pressed a butterfly kiss into the curve of his spine above his tailbone, massaging one of his feather scars with my thumb as I rubbed my palm over the hunting knife's souvenir.

He let out a breath, a breath so deep I wondered how many he'd been hoarding.

If I hadn't known their history, I would have envied him these scars. Still, they were undeniable proof of his strength and they were inarguable evidence of his survival. Trowa's scars would have been the most amazing things I'd ever seen, if they hadn't scared the bejesus outta me.

How many times had I almost lost him, Goddamnit?

"Duo?"

I gulped down a breath and stamped the rising tide of aimless fury back into its cage.

Shit. I was being a dick again. He was freakin' _awesome_ and I was leaving him hanging. Maybe one day there'd be a time and a place for vengeance against anyone and everyone who had ever hurt him, but it wasn't here and it wasn't now. Here and now was for him, for us, for the fact that we were both standing here without our clothes on.

The reminder sent a wave of predictable, hot arousal through me. This I could deal with. Gladly. I straightened up, placed my hands on his waist and, pressing my mouth to his shoulder again, murmured, "You are so hot I can't stand it."

Looking at me over his shoulder, he advised, "Then lie down."

Those green eyes could get me to hand over my immortal soul; lying down on the bed was a piece of cake. I snagged his hand as I did, tugging him around to face me. He followed, bracing himself with an arm on the headboard and a knee between mine.

My gaze darted downward and—

Yeah, I'd caught an eyeful before but now it seemed… different. Holy shit. He was naked _with me._

It kind of hit me then that there was no turning back. Even if we stopped now, I was never gonna be able to go back to quick jerk-off sessions that merely relieved stress and burned off excess hormones. This was the real deal.

My nerves were suddenly back in full force. Yeah, I'd made it clear what we _weren't_ gonna be doing today… Not that I was completely against it in theory, but I was sure we'd both end up coming too damn soon for it to be any good. And I desperately wanted it to be good. Damn it, I was _ready_ for it to be good. Heart-stoppingly, soul-searingly _good._

I stared at his uncircumcised length, wondered if that sheath of skin made him more sensitive or less, panted a little at the thought of tasting the glistening drop that had formed at the flushed head. Trowa didn't ask if I liked what I saw. Given the standing ovation going on in my lap, I think it must have been obvious that I did.

I'd seen plenty of guys naked in the locker room – both at school and away at competitions – but this was different, so different. He was so… vulnerable. Open and aroused. Trusting.

I remembered asking him what I'd done to earn his trust. I still couldn't believe it had been as simple as giving him mine. And now here we were, moving into uncharted territory.

Oh, Christ. Knowing that I was his first was such an unbelievable turn-on.

I scooted over to make room for him to lie down. "Me, first," I insisted, reaching out and drawing a single finger down the length of him once from base to head and then back before I brushed my knuckles over his balls. They were tight.

He didn't argue: he just looked at me with those soulful green eyes, bit his lip as I stroked him, and slid onto the mattress. I leaned over him, moaning softly when I encountered bare, warm skin all down my chest and against my leg where I nudged his knee with mine. Jesus, the feel of him was unbelievable. It would have been so easy to just move things along and go for the finish line, but I couldn't do it. There was something about him that demanded reverence. Maybe it was the scars. Maybe it was the half dozen or so times he'd nearly died before I'd ever made that trip to Egypt with my dad. Maybe it was both.

I braced myself against the instinct to devour him whole in a frenzy of possession and lust, and I urged his chin up, touching our lips together in a soft kiss, and oh what a kiss. I steadied his jaw and he reached up to cradle the back of my head. Our mouths parted in sync and our tongues met in a hot rush that felt like an unbreakable connection. I groaned, dazed by the heat searing through me in twinkling waves that were almost pins-and-needles painful. I kissed him again and again, and with every moment of initial connection, it only felt _better._ Eventually, I had to stop or I was never gonna get to the next item on the agenda.

He leaned up a bit, following me when I pulled away. I softly rubbed my thumb over his lower lip. God how I loved his mouth, his want, his passion. "I want you," I told him.

He inhaled sharply, staring into my eyes and I felt yet another zing of contact. "Show me," he murmured, using the same words I'd spoken to him not ten minutes ago.

Smiling, I sat up a bit and pulled my hair together in a lose twist before pressing it into his grasp. "You are in charge of this."

"My orders, sir?" he joked softly.

I grinned wider and winked. "Just keep it outta my way."

His reply of "Copy th—!" was cut short as I latched onto the nearest nipple. His arms went around me and he pulled me on top of him. With one knee between his, it was so deliciously easy to lower myself until I could drag my length down and back up his muscular thigh with lazy thrusts of my hips. He wiggled and squirmed a bit until he could turn his leg to the side and then I was rubbing against the softer, smoother skin of his inner thigh.

"Mmm," I approved, leaving off on the first nipple to rub my cheek against the other. His whole body arched against me. So responsive. Not that I had anything to compare it to, but this struck me as uniquely-Trowa. Maybe even uniquely-Trowa-with-me. But I did not want to think about him being with anyone else. I was not gonna ever be OK with someone else touching him like this. Not as long as I was alive.

"You ticklish?" I checked, sliding my hips between his thighs completely as I moved further down his chest.

"Not particularly," he panted.

"Mmm," I approved again, applying my mouth to his defined abs. Shit, how was he staying in such good shape? I made a mental note to ask him later.

The further down I wriggled, the higher his straining length traveled along my belly and chest. I could feel the cooling trail of precome against my skin as I moved lower and lower. My mouth started to water.

When his length nudged my collarbone, Trowa threw back his head and braced himself, his fingers curling into the fitted sheet. Around his left wrist, he'd wrapped the twisted length of my hair and the vision of him, sprawled and captured, a supplicant, almost made me come.

But no, not yet.

I slid a hand up the inside of his thigh. He panted. His hips twitched in these crazy, needy, _hot _little thrusts. I grasped him gently at first and then fitted the heel of my hand and my thumb along the underside for a firm massage.

He gasped my name; his thighs parted even further in mindless invitation.

Oh, yes.

"Mmm," I approved for a third time, and then I swiped my tongue over the exposed head. Sensitive. Definitely sensitive. I'd never heard my name said so many ways: gasped, choked, whined, shuddered, and breathed out. I had to fight against the instinct to roll my hips against the bed.

I focused on the taste and feel of him. When I kissed him, he surged upward, hardening even further and, when I licked him, he twitched. I had to keep a grip on him or else I'd never get anywhere, and I had a definite destination in mind.

"Trowa baby," I whispered, reaching my free hand out to his. He clutched at me, interlacing our fingers until they were painfully tight. "I love you," I reminded him, meeting his lust-darkened gaze, and then I opened my mouth and took him as deep as I could.

It turned out that I could make Trowa scream just like I could make him laugh.

I buried my nose in his curls, tightened my mouth around him, and then began to pull back slowly.

"No-no-Duo-no—" he wheezed brokenly as I released him briefly and licked the salty residue off the tip.

"Bad?" I asked, already brainstorming other ways I could taste him.

The fingers of the hand not clutching mine tightened in the sheets until his knuckles whitened. "I'll come if you do that again."

That sounded good to me. "The night is young," I observed and took him deep again.

Even before I'd pulled back all the way, he stopped me with a panted, "There!" I held still, my tongue pressed against the underside of his length as he thrust into my mouth, rubbing against my palate over and over and then, suddenly, he was coming. _A lot._

OK, it might seem like giving head was a lot like drinking from a sports bottle or a water fountain or, hell, even eating a popsicle, but it wasn't. I tried not to gag and cough when the spurts hit. The best I could do was hold my breath. And then he started softening and all the juices in my mouth rushed to escape. I grabbed the sheet and enlisted it for active duty.

So, it was awkward, and it was messy – "Sorry, baby," I said as I tried to wipe and dab him dry without snagging his short and curlies – but it had been _amazingly_ hot and I was already thinking about next time.

"Duo," he beckoned, and I moved up to lie beside him. My own need was unavoidable – I was throbbing and pulsing with every heartbeat – but it wasn't like it was gonna kill me. Actually, it was probably a good idea if I tried to calm down a bit.

Trowa rolled me toward him. My length mashed sensationally against his belly and his lips covered mine. I groaned and squirmed mindlessly against him as he sampled my new-and-improved flavor. "Salty," he informed me.

I grinned. "That's because you are."

Damned if he didn't blush. "You didn't have to…"

"I'll never get any better at it if I don't practice," I teased.

"Bugger and fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes. "If you get any better at it, you'll kill me."

"OK. We'll work on building up your tolerance for perfect blow jobs."

He laughed. And then he looked at me. I watched his gaze rove down my chest and beyond to where I was trying not to rub against his belly and beg for attention. When he looked back up and into my eyes again, he smiled.

"Now it's my turn."

Oh fuck, it sure was. And as he'd already come, he wasn't in the same urgent hurry that I was for relief and release.

"Promise not to torture me," I demanded even as I let him push me onto my back. The clay pendant around his neck dangled between us, my name facing out. I might need the reminder; if anyone could make me forget my own name, it'd be him.

"No torture," he agreed, and grasped me in his hand at the same moment his lips touched mine. My groan turned into a full-throated moan when his tongue slid into my mouth. Oh, hell yes, please sir can I have some more…

I had no shame now – embarrassment had long since hit the road – so when he moved to crouch between my thighs, I wrapped my legs around his waist and rocked up against him, urging him to move things along.

He pulled back from my mouth and panted in my ear, "Slow down, bokkie. I want to enjoy this."

"Can we aim for speed over endurance?" I bargained, offering him an inarticulate grunt of please-and-thank-you when he ducked his head down and tugged at my left nipple with his lips. His hand was still squeezing me tightly and Goddamnit but I wanted to come. "I'll make it up to you later."

"Not this time."

I wondered if begging would change his mind. He planted an open-mouthed, sucking kiss on my other nipple and I forgot what I was going to say.

I couldn't keep still. My feet kept roving up and down his calves before my ankles momentarily locked at the small of his back, and then it was back to roving again. I speared my fingers into his short hair before greedily groping down his back and then scratching along the edges of his scars just to feel him shiver.

My only wish was that my hands and feet could have been in ten different places at once because there was no way I'd ever get enough of him. I was an idiot for not figuring out my problem sooner, for confining us to the sofa and keeping our clothes on.

He was careful not to leave any marks behind as he softly kissed his way up my neck and along my jaw but, contrarily, I kinda wanted him to.

I had no idea how many times I said his name. It was a lot, anyway, and I could feel him hardening with every passing second (or was it minute? or hour?) and fuck it was such a tease to feel him brush against my thigh.

"You-you're-h-hard-again," I gasped out.

"Yah," he purred against the skin behind my ear.

I reached for him, but he moved back out of range. Damn it.

"Now-now," he promised before I could whine.

He was still gripping me, occasionally brushing his thumb over the head, and generally not providing enough stimulation. "Torture," I accused between gasps, making him chuckle.

He released me from his grasp and leaned back. I locked my legs around his waist to keep him from going very far. I needn't have worried. He simply sat back and looked down at me, admiring the very telling shade of magenta that darkened my arousal at the tip. His hands smoothed over my chest and down my belly, causing me to close my eyes and press my head back into the pillow.

"Trowa…" I prompted him.

"Duo?" he answered, sounding encouragingly breathless. I wondered if I could make him even more so. A thought occurred to me and I went with it.

Licking my lips, I rolled my hips invitingly. I met his gaze and whispered, "Mark me."

Whoo boy, yes. He liked that idea a lot. His hands, just trailing over my thighs, paused. His fingers clenched, digging into my muscles and making me groan at the strength of his grasp. He didn't even try to deny that he wanted it, too.

"Where?" he panted, eying me hungrily.

I reached for his hand and brought it up to the top of my thigh, and then turned its path inward as I let my leg fall open. "Here," I told him, pressing his fingers to the smooth skin about four inches down from my crotch.

"Ahh, Duo…" he groaned, massaging the spot until I was thrusting into the air. "Right here?" he checked.

I nodded. "Make it dark so I feel it all day tomorrow."

He closed his eyes, panting. The hand still gripping my leg reaffirmed its grasp. I watched as his already heavy erection bobbed in approval, darkening even further to a shade that nearly matched mine. "You don't have to… for me," he seemed to force himself to say. Hah. Resistance was futile.

"I'm not. It's for me. I wanna remember, over and over, how my incredible, amazing, sexy boyfriend rocked my world." I paused before adding, "You _are_ gonna rock my world, aren't you?"

He softly moaned an agreement, lowering himself between my knees. Oh Christ, watching him settle between my legs – feeling his bare shoulders bump and brush against my thighs as he kissed his way up to the place I'd chosen – was almost enough to bring me off. I shuddered when his long bangs brushed the underside of my length, and then his mouth was opening and sealing tightly over my skin.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows so I could watch him. His lashes fluttered briefly as he took a deep breath in through his nose. He looked up at me through his brows, and then he started to suck.

Oh fuck it hurt _so_ good. I tried not to thrust my hips and dislodge him before he was through, but ugh…! It was all I could do not to beg-scream-throw-a-freakin'-temper-tantrum I wanted him so bad. I wanted to come. _Let me come, Trowa. _Yes, so, so hot. More!_ Let me come, baby—!_

I was panting and gasping when he released me. "Don't make me wait anymore," I rasped, my eyes squeezed shut as I was suddenly overwhelmed by the painful erection he hadn't addressed properly yet.

There was no warning before he licked me from base to tip. I gritted my teeth and braced myself against the torment of it. My heart was pounding and my hips started pistoning in time with the beat, anticipating the slick heat of his mouth, but— _Careful!_ I fisted my hands in the sheets, struggling for control.

"Duo," he called and I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to open my eyes, to look at him, to _see _him.

I did. "Tro… baby?"

He met my slightly unfocused gaze and nuzzled his cheek against my appreciative length. "I'm yours. Absolutely. Body, heart, soul." Before I could cobble together a response in acknowledgement of that astounding declaration, he fitted his lips over me and moved down – _hot-tight-soft-wet-more-yes-please!_ – until I felt the head hit the roof of his mouth and rub against his soft palate and suddenly I understood why he'd insisted that it be _there,_ just like _that_ because holy-fuck-wow-damn-yes!

And then he began to pull back. Slowly. With suction. Interestingly enough, Trowa could make me scream, too. Well, it was only fair, really.

I had no idea how long I lasted. Time lost all meaning. I was dimly aware of reaching for his shoulders, of sliding a hand up and into his hair, of babbling and thrusting with as much restraint as I could manage, of warning him when it was time—!

Like me, he didn't pull back. I came in his mouth… and came… and _came._ And I didn't give a damn that I was suddenly softening and everything was all wet and gooey. Oh my God. I was dead. What did a little drool and spunk matter to me now?

He used a dry corner of the sheet to wipe up. I wanted to help. I really did. But I was dead.

I marveled as he crawled up my body, crouching over me. Where the hell had he gotten the energy to do that? It was all I could do to breathe and moan when he kissed me. It took a monumental effort to get my arms to move so I could rest my nerveless palms and numb fingers on his forearms. His mouth was warm and his lips a little sticky and I knew why.

"Musky," I croaked when he leaned back.

He smirked. "Savory."

I tried to lift my head to check, but I couldn't manage it. "Did you come again?"

Slowly, he shook his head. I groaned. Oh, how I wanted to help him with that.

He reached an arm across my chest and pressed his cheek over my heart, nuzzling against me. "Just let me feel you," he murmured. "Like this." He demonstrated by rocking himself against my hip.

I lifted a noodle-esque limb and grasped the arm banded over me. "Anything you want," I vowed and relished the sensation of his hot breath against my skin when he thrust again. He managed four or five repeats of that sexy squirming of his before I discovered a small but welcome reserve of energy. I was still soft, but that didn't matter.

I rolled towards him, sliding and arm beneath his head to cradle it in the crook of my elbow and then pressing him onto his back as I ran my other hand down his chest to grasp him. He moaned into my mouth as I kissed him slowly. His hand slid up my back and his nails scratched at my skin. He rocked his hips and I gripped him tightly, countering his movements until he pulled his mouth free of mine, snapping his hips faster and faster.

I kissed his chest, tasting the fine misting of sweat that had dewed upon his firming muscles and peaked nipples. He was so. Incredibly. Hot. I desperately ached to be hard again, but after coming like I had, I was completely spent. In the next instant, so was he.

Holding him as he came was unbelievable. Hell, I think I liked it even better than bringing him off with my mouth or vice versa. _Next time, _I promised myself, draping myself over him and just listening to him breathe. I pressed my ear to his chest and counted his heartbeats as they gradually slowed. I rubbed my cheek against his skin and smiled as I inhaled his scent. Eventually, he shifted and I knew I had to do something about the cooling mess on my fingers and his groin.

Thank God sheets come with more than two corners is all I'm saying.

We dozed after that. I must have slept a little because, when I blinked and stretched, I discovered that I was currently being spooned by Trowa and he was carefully rewrapping my hair around his wrist.

"You awake?" he breathed.

"Yeah," I mouthed back in near-silence. I had no idea what time it was. Dinner time, according to my severely empty and hella peeved stomach. I fought it into submission. It'd get fed when I damn well felt like getting up. At the moment, I was basking in the novelty of a completely bare Trowa pressed up against me.

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He didn't move away or shift closer or release my hair. I was about to ante up my penny in exchange for his thoughts when he finally propped himself up on his elbow and then trailed his fingertips down my arm and back up again. I shivered, remembering how he'd used this gesture in Egypt to wake me up for kiss after kiss.

"What changed?" he asked. "Why did you decide to tell me today…?"

I grinned crookedly and squiggled around so I could see his expression. "You think we shoulda waited longer?" I teased. "Are you telling me I killed the mystery?"

He snorted. "No, goof. If you were any more mystery, we wouldn't speak the same language."

I remembered our cupboard debate, the china-maat-kerel deal, and the unforgettable _befokken lekker._ I chuckled. Sometimes, we didn't speak the same language at all.

He didn't say anything else, just continued drawing invisible lines up and down my arm as he waited for me to answer his original question. I took a deep breath and sighed, trying to sort out my thoughts, attempting to boil my motivations down to something I could say that would make sense.

"I wanted you to come to the States and live with me," I began, "because I… well, because I'm a selfish ass, mostly. I missed you and I wanted you, but I wanted you to have a shot at the kind of life you deserved, too, something… different, better, I dunno." I shrugged, hating how badly I was sucking at explaining this. Lifting a hand, I brushed my fingertips over his machete scar.

He leaned a fraction of an inch closer and waited for me to answer his question.

I took a deep breath. When I thought I might possibly be capable of semi-coherence, I continued, "And today I… you… You deserve someone who isn't afraid to have people know that he's your boyfriend." I swallowed and cleared my throat. "Until yesterday, I wasn't that person. Now I am."

His expression blanked with surprise. I guess he hadn't been expecting me to say that. On my arm, his hand stopped moving and his fingers curled around my bicep; I suspected it wasn't so much to hold me down, but to ground himself. "You would…" His lips slackened and his eyes shined with moisture. He had to stop and start over again. "You would tell people that I'm your kerel?"

"Trowa," I whispered back, "I'd tell them you're my soulmate." In retrospect, "boyfriend" seemed like such a trite term now, given what we'd just done and how he'd made me feel. That had not been anywhere near the same category as fumbling around on the sofa with our hands down each other's pants. But what we'd just done had been more. A helluvalot more. It boggled my mind that we were only just getting started down this road.

When he ducked his head down, I couldn't see anything through his bangs. I felt his lips press against my shoulder and then a warm droplet splashed onto my skin, cooling quickly. I reached for him, dislodging his grip on my arm so I could reach up and grasp his shoulder from behind. His hand fisted on top of my chest, my hair still wrapped messily around his forearm.

"Hey," I whispered. "You OK?"

He nodded. He drew in a deep breath. After an additional moment, he reached up blindly until he was cradling my face. Only then did he lift his head. I studied his shining eyes and dark lashes – now clumped with tears – and I was in awe. "You are amazing," I told him. His Adam's apple bobbed in response. I smiled. "And I am so glad that I don't have to miss you anymore."

I suspected that he kissed me just so I'd shut up. But that was OK. I'd be mushy and sappy during some other afterglow. I needed to pace myself. Besides, if I kept on like this, I was probably gonna be embarrassed later. Yeah, Trowa was just doing what he did best: look out for me.

He kissed me with lips and tongue, gentle and shallow, warm and slow. Being with him like this made the world disappear. It made time stop. He was a miracle, my own personal miracle.

When he leaned away, he carefully rearranged himself so he was lying on my chest, not too heavy but wonderfully warm. "You don't have to tell anyone about us," he said.

I blinked. "Huh?"

He smiled. "What we have is ours. I don't need more than that."

I reached up and combed his bangs away from his face. "No declarations of undying love in front of your troupe and everyone at my school? No class rings? No matching tattoos?"

He shook his head.

"Hm, so I guess I can cancel that sky writing I was gonna have done at the World Series?" I gestured above us in a wide arc as I narrated, "Duo loves Trowa forever and ever and—"

He pressed a single finger to my lips and chuckled. "Cancel it. We can't see it from here anyway."

I grinned. "And you think we're gonna be spending a lotta time right here?" I teased, wiggling against the mattress.

"There's more room to maneuver than on the sofa," he teased back.

"Yeah," I agreed. "You got that right, partner."

He smiled again. Damn but I was never gonna get enough of seeing him smile, hearing him laugh, feeling his fingers thread between mine like they were doing now. I clasped his hand tightly, feeling like the luckiest guy on the whole damn planet. Trowa and I were a team. We were partners, _lovers,_ and there wasn't anything – driving tests, GEDs, swim championships, corporate powwows, and fist fights in parking lots included – that we couldn't handle together.

* * *

NOTES:

French translation: "What do you want for your birthday, love?" (Many thanks to YokoT for the correct French!)

You might have picked up on some slight confidence issues from Trowa. Why that is exactly, I leave up to you.

Is this the end of the fallout from Lord Maxwell's death? No. Duo still hasn't really acknowledged his loss yet even though he's accepting some of his responsibilities with regards to the company and providing a home for himself and Trowa. There will be more fallout in the upcoming episode – "Prom Night" – plus the lead-in to more action.

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South African terms and slang:

Now now = soon or soon-ish, as in 5 minutes or an hour from now


	11. Prom Night, Part 1

**Warnings:** language, YAOI (male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

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Recommended music for _Prom Night, Part 1_ - "All We Are" by OneRepublic

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Just in case you missed the warning, this chapter contains **boy love and** **SEX**.

Also, "Prom Night" will be posted in THREE parts and each is quite lengthy. After this will be "The Quest," which will have lots of bad guys and action and angst and stuffz like that. At the moment, Duo and Trowa are still sorting out their daily life relationship things. But there's some foreshadowing and clue-type things.

A PLETHORA OF THANKS goes out to Clara Barton, who gave this a read-through and helped me iron out some of the not-so-polished bits. It has been amazing fangirling Duo and Trowa with you, my friend!

* * *

**Prom Night - Part 1** (Trowa POV)

"He's so in love with you it makes me want to slap him," Dorothy announced.

Despite her claim toward violent tendencies, she didn't manage to pull my attention away from Duo's approaching form. I doubted I had to inform her that klapping my kerel would invite retribution from me, so I said nothing.

In any event, it was a moot point: she was smiling fondly in Duo's direction. Or perhaps she was smiling at her girlfriend who was clutching Duo's arm as she slipped and skidded over the ice-coated asphalt, hooting and shrieking while Duo rolled his eyes at her antics. Duo didn't have a problem navigating the terrain, perhaps because he'd made a better choice in footwear. Or perhaps because he was naturally extremely agile.

Hm. That was something to be investigated later. Anticipation made my fingertips tingle inside my insulated gloves.

"OK, Schbeiker," Duo began, conspicuously aware of my presence as evidenced by the fact that he neither looked in my direction nor greeted me verbally. I, on the other hand, couldn't keep my eyes off of him. He continued loudly, "I've delivered you to your other half. Now gimme my clothes back."

_What?_

Hilde reached a gloved hand up to her throat just as Duo's gaze fell, zeroing in on the exact same vicinity.

He sighed mournfully. "Tell me you didn't."

"Um, I think I did. Sorry?"

"Yeah, you will be," he mumbled. His eyes focused on me for the briefest moment and the heat I saw there was enough to make me forget about the breath-pluming chill. "Sorry, Tro. I gotta deal with muffler retrieval before it ends up in the school's lost-and-found box with all the used and abandoned jockstraps."

The mental image of such a thing was more than enough to jar me from my contemplation of his kissable lips. I blinked. Smothering both a grin and a wince, I nodded toward the school entrance over his shoulder. "Get going."

He gave me a salute, glared briefly at a slightly blushing Hilde and smirking Dorothy, and then jogged back toward the building. I watched as he dodged and wove his way through the crowd against the tide. Oh, yes. He was agile like a springbok. An investigation was _definitely _called for.

After the end of his braid disappeared through the doors, I turned my attention to the rest of the car park. Hilde and Dorothy were whispering to each other and I didn't try to interrupt them. I leaned an elbow against the roof of the car and tapped my gloved fingers on the metal, waiting with barely restrained patience, wondering if I'd overhear anything useful in the process of looking distracted. When a motion at the corner of my vision caught my attention, I didn't resist the inclination to examine its cause.

It was the blond boy from the swim team, the oke who had taken not one but three swings at Duo on Sunday. I watched as he stomped past on the way to his car. He did not look up and answer my silent glare. Duo had promised that he'd handle the situation and I trusted him to do that. If he needed me to donner some kak-spouting boykie for him, he'd ask. In the meantime, I had my own work to bother with.

Dorothy suddenly remarked very audibly, "Did you notice Duo that was practically glowing today? It was sickening." She didn't look all that disgusted or put-off. In fact, she slid an arm around Hilde's waist.

Hilde leaned her head against Dorothy's and sighed happily. "You know, I thought it couldn't get any worse back when he was texting this mysterious stranger every day for hours at a time, wandering around with that silly grin on his face, never paying attention to a word anyone said, constantly checking his messages during class…"

Hilde shared a grin with her girlfriend as the pair of them sneakily skinnered behind Duo's back. I didn't want to hear about Duo's life before I'd come to the States; that was Duo's past to tell. As Hilde and Dorothy seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction from me, I didn't give them one. They both seemed like nice girls, but they were venturing into territory where they were not welcome. What was between Duo and me stayed between Duo and me.

With the blond oke out of sight, I scanned the area for that other boykie, the one who'd schemed up the brilliant idea of trying to block me in the car so I couldn't skop his arse. I almost smirked, remembering how he'd ended up in the snow. I suspected I'd broken his nose, but it'd be nice to see it with my own eyes. That was about the only reason I hadn't long since nodded a polite farewell to Hilde and Dorothy. It wasn't as if I was standing out here in the cold because it was good for my health. February in New York was bloody miserable. I no longer had even a twinge of feeling left in my face.

"It can always get worse," Dorothy contributed sagely and I wondered if she'd just read my mind. But no, she was still talking about Duo.

"Oh, so true," Hilde concurred and then turned toward me.

I kept the school doors in sight, just out of the corner of my eye, as she smiled up at me. I did not trust that smile. She and Dorothy were completely unlike the girls and women I'd encountered briefly in my life but, in all fairness, Duo had warned me about them.

"Hilde and Dorothy are totally and irredeemably evil. Like, evil mastermind kind of evil."

"Yet they're your friends?" I'd replied, baffled by his genuine smile.

He'd shrugged. "Hilde and I have known each other since kindergarten. Dorothy's part of the package deal."

In other words: twice the unanticipated female scheming for the price of one. Bloody wonderful.

"Hey, Trowa…" Hilde began in a tone that instantly put me on my guard. If she thought that a shared scheme and a two-hour trek in a car to the New York State High School Swim Championships guaranteed my cooperation with whatever was making her smile like that, then she could bloody well think again.

I kept my expression impassive. "Ja?"

"Duo wasn't mad at you for the swim meet thing last weekend, was he?"

"No."

"Oh, good! There's hope for that boy yet."

I didn't want to ask, but if I didn't they'd undoubtedly attempt to blindside me later. Best to just meet it head on. "Hope for what?"

"Well…" she drawled, rocking back and forth in her fashionable yet useless snow boots, "see, there's something else we think he should include you in."

Dorothy corrected her: "I don't think he _should,_ per se. I just want to see it happen."

Hilde rolled her eyes and pulled a gloved hand from her coat pocket. She held out a larny, dark blue envelope with silver calligraphy in my direction.

I blinked, making no move to take it.

I couldn't deny that Hilde and Dorothy had assisted me with the handling of Duo's swim meet. They'd warned me that Duo would want to go alone. I would have spent more than one night lying awake scheming how to keep him in my sights while indulging him, and I probably would have ended up in a scrap with him over it after concluding that it was just not on, but Hilde had bounced back with the perfect solution.

"Let him think he's going alone and ride with us."

I'd glanced at Dorothy. She'd smiled. "I'll drive."

"Perfect," I'd agreed. And things had turned out even more so when Duo had declared his intention to give one of his teammates a ride. With a witness in the car, it had been far less likely that Khushrenada would show his hand.

No, I hadn't forgotten about the greedy, unscrupulous bastard, although I often wondered if Duo had. We all have our limits and I wasn't about to begrudge Duo his. While he dealt with Maxwell Limited, I dealt with the rest of it insofar as I could. I didn't really believe that Khushrenada would be so careless as to abduct Duo on U.S. soil. No, he'd find ways to goad him into taking up his mother's quest and avenging his father's death. He'd use Duo to lead him to the second half of that fokken key and Duo was in no position to do that at the moment. He had far too many immediate responsibilities to see to. Thank God. So long as Duo didn't play Khushrenada's game, he was safe enough: he was potentially useful. And the day Duo retrieved that bloody artifact would be his last day of usefulness to a man like Treize Khushrenada.

So, ja, I worried and I watched and I waited. I took photos whenever Duo and I went out on the weekends and sent them off to the captain in my regular email reports. He always spotted the watchful shadows that trailed Duo and me through the shopping center or whatever place of interest we were reconnoitering. I didn't doubt that I was paranoid, but I had every right to be.

I had no idea how long Khushrenada had been waiting for Lord Maxwell to make his move, but the man clearly possessed some measure of patience. Unfortunately, he was far more opportunistic: he'd had a chance in Laos to get away with abduction and torture and he'd taken it. Perhaps he wouldn't be quite so bold here where it was more difficult and expensive to buy the cooperation of the authorities, but I knew he was planning something. It was his move next and it chafed that I didn't have the resources to counter him. Unless I brought the whole Barton Troupe to the States. But it was best to keep them in reserve for when I really needed them, and I was sure I would, eventually. Khushrenada wasn't about to give up. Hence my reluctance to let Duo head off to his state swim meet without backup or witnesses.

But for all the forethought I'd put into the operation, I hadn't anticipated the pure satisfaction of seeing the look on Duo's face when I'd finally revealed my presence after all had been said and done and he'd been standing on the makeshift stage in his windbreaker and tracksuit with a first-place medal being hung around his neck.

I'd never felt as proud of him as I had then. The kidnapping, the rescue attempt, the accident, the lies, the press conference, the funeral, the company presidency… Duo had made it through all of that and still kept his focus. He hadn't fallen apart; he'd triumphed. Although it was only a high school swim race, it represented so much more. It was the manifestation of his strength and determination. And, when he'd looked up in response to my shrill whistle and seen me, that moment had become _ours._

Hilde and Dorothy had helped make that possible, and I would be forever grateful, but now it sounded like these two were soeking with us.

"What is it?" I reluctantly asked when it became clear that Hilde would rather give herself a muscle cramp than lower her arm in defeat.

Dorothy explained airily, "Two tickets to this year's prom. April 20th."

"They're made out to 'Dominic Maxwell and guest' because we can't get the name of someone from a different school put on them. Sorry."

The relationship people in this country had with their schools was bizarre. I certainly didn't feel that homey connection with the GED preparatory institution in which I'd enrolled. Sitting on my arse from nine a.m. to two thirty-five p.m. every day did nothing to earn my allegiance. And yet people here wore their school emblems with pride and dignity, even arrogance. I would have likened it to my loyalty to the Barton Troupe, but we were a unit, dependent on each other for our lives and livelihoods. The sense I'd gotten from Duo was that he didn't rely on his classmates so much as _compete_ against them and, given the events of last Sunday, he was even despised by a few. And yet everyone clung to their school identity with fanatical devotion. Befok.

Nor did I understand the significance of the event Hilde seemed intent on having Duo and me attend.

"Prom," I echoed. "That's a dance."

"A formal dance," Hilde confirmed. "So you'll both need tuxes."

"And there's a dinner beforehand," Dorothy mentioned. "It should be decent, given the venue this year."

I shook my head. "Duo is never going to agree to this."

"He might if _you _asked him," Hilde argued with a dangerously charming smile. "Please, Trowa? He didn't go last year and he turned down all the invitations he got to the other ones. This is his last chance."

As far as I was concerned, it was Duo right to decline. Why was it so befokken important that he go?

"It's our coming-of-age," Dorothy summarized, once again with eerily accurate timing.

I glared thoughtfully at her and then at Hilde as I tried to suss out their motives for interfering this time. Out of the corner of my eye, a figure matching Duo's height and lithe shape pushed open the front doors. Muffler reclaimed and snuggly donned, Duo moved with his signature, loping grace, leaping down the steps and heading in our direction. Hilde had seconds to convince me to go along with this new scheme.

"Don't you want to see him dance?" she finagled.

I did, but—

"It's worth wearing nylons just for that," Dorothy agreed with relish.

—I'd rather not deal with lecherous onlookers.

"Just take them," Hilde urged. "Think about it."

I didn't move.

"Duo's on his way," Dorothy contributed.

"I know," I said, looking away from Hilde and the still-offered tickets to give Duo's progress my full attention. When a car pulled out and idly rolled by, blocking Duo's path and forcing him to stop and wait, I felt Hilde slide the envelope into the pocket of my winter coat. I tensed.

"Hey! You pinch his ass; you answer to me, Schbeiker!" Duo called. A few heads swiveled in his direction.

I bit back a chuckle. "No arse pinching," I reported. In fact, there'd been no pinching of any kind. Rather, instead of a theft, I'd been left an unsolicited gift.

Duo's eyes sparkled at me, promising naughty things. "Well, that's a relief." He transferred his gaze to Hilde; it went from warm and open to sharp-edged and suspicious in an instant. "Just what are you up to, woman?"

She rolled with the verbal punch. "Well, at the moment, I'm wondering what it takes to get this one—" She nodded in my direction. "—to crack a smile."

Leaning on the roof of the car from the passenger's side, Duo drawled, "Well, actually, it only happens when there's a precise alignment of the planet Neptune with the constellation Leo as the barometric pressure is rising, but it helps if you stick your tongue in his ear and blow."

I barked out a laugh. Which was precisely what Duo had been going for, the goof. He grinned at me over the roof of the car and either I was becoming genuinely hypothermic or a mere look really had the power to heat blood.

Dorothy looked intrigued.

Hilde looked offended. "Duo!"

"What?"

"Ew," she declared. "That was squicky."

Duo shrugged. "Hey, be thankful I spared you the details about the melted peanut butter and the feather duster."

I snorted.

Before Hilde could prolong the conversation and Dorothy could encourage Duo to elaborate, he announced, "OK, muffler has been rescued. Let's burn rubber already. I'm freezing my balls off."

"And just what would Trowa do with you if _that_ happened?" Dorothy murmured silkily.

I sent a sidelong glare at her, all traces of humor wiped from my expression.

Duo's grin didn't even wobble. "There's a pretty good chance he'd give me a shoulder to cry on after the guys in black suits showed up to take away my Man Card."

"Let's not test the theory," I interjected, opening the car door and signaling our imminent departure. I had a vested interest in making sure nothing of Duo's got frozen or fell off, especially now, the day after he'd decided he was ready to be my lover.

_My lover._ All day I'd been rolling the words over and over in my mind, savoring them as I remembered the mark I'd given him on his inner thigh and wondered if it was accomplishing its purpose. I nodded farewell and ignored Hilde's significant look. Duo waved goodbye to his friends. We got in the car where the heater was rattling and wheezing. At least it was warm.

Duo buckled up and I pulled out, joining the queue along with the dozens of other vehicles that were in the process of departing the school's car park. As we idled in line, Duo cleared his throat and asked, "So, what did Hilde wanna talk to you about?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on. It was obvious that she wanted to get you alone for five minutes."

"What makes you say that?" I inquired, wondering exactly how astute Duo was. He hadn't mentioned noticing the people following us so I didn't think he had. I was both relieved that he wasn't worrying about it and frustrated that he wasn't as sensitive to their presence as I was.

And, to be perfectly honest, I had more than a passing interest in the subtle art of manipulation. Thomas Darlian's use of it in Vientiane had piqued my curiosity.

Duo grinned at me. "She never asks to borrow my muffler. Dorothy would kill her if she lost or stopped wearing the one that she made in home ec, sophomore year. I'm pretty sure it was Dorothy's Valentine's gift to Hilde."

I coughed out a laugh. "Dorothy knitted a muffler?" That was hard to imagine.

"Hm," Duo agreed. "No one's come forward as a witness, but that's what she says. Personally, I think she just blackmailed one of the freshmen into doing it for her."

Now _that _I could believe.

"So, back to this chat you had with Hilde…"

Dear God but he was relentless. "A _chat _implies that both people participated equally in an exchange of information."

"Uh huh. So what did she want to talk _at _you about?"

"Nonsense," I hedged. Duo was in a fantastic mood and I was eager to capitalize on this. Today was Tuesday, but he'd finished with the swim season on Sunday and I didn't have a tutoring session with Sally until Friday. _Also,_ neither one of us was expected at Maxwell Limited this afternoon. Duo was all mine until 7:30 a.m. tomorrow morning when we'd have to leave for another day of school. I had sixteen uninterrupted hours with my lover.

_My lover._ I gripped the steering wheel harder as arousal rolled through me.

"I bet I know what you're thinking," Duo drawled softly.

I glanced over at him and then down at his lap. He'd propped his elbow up against the door and his hand was resting high on his thigh. His middle finger tapped against the very spot I'd marked the night before. I looked back up into his eyes. "Did it help you remember?"

"As if I needed it to."

That purr of his worked better than the heater at warming me up. My blood was just shy of boiling by the time I turned the car onto the street.

"Tell me you don't have to finish any homework tonight," I said when we stopped at a robot.

Duo wiggled a bit in his seat, tugging surreptitiously at his trousers in a bid for comfort. I doubted it helped much. I could see the outline of his arousal. My mouth watered. I swallowed thickly.

"Nope. No homework on the radar tonight."

"What is on the radar?" I tormented myself by asking.

He rolled his head toward me and smiled slowly. "You."

Ah God. I didn't think I could wait until we got back home.

"The light's green," he observed in that same sexy murmur and it took me a minute to sort out the words from his tone.

I pulled into the intersection before anyone was moved to hoot at me. The rest of the journey home was made in silence. If Duo minded, he didn't let on. Whenever I glanced his way, he was looking out the window, a barely-there smile curving his lips. Anticipation drove the car and impatience parked it. After a painfully long and drawn out ride in the lift and a too slow journey down the hall, I held the door open for Duo, my breath catching when he brushed his shoulder against my chest in passing.

I barely gave him enough time to kick his snow boots off before I was kissing him and crowding him toward the bedroom. He tossed his gloves aside and then his hands were unzipping my jacket and sliding beneath my sweater. Oh God, I wanted him.

It seemed like, between one breath and the next, our clothes vanished and he was on his back on the rumpled bed. I slid my bare arms beneath his equally bare thighs and then I was swallowing him down, greedily taking his length deeper than I had the night before, determined to put off my gag reflex as long as possible and thrilled when I made noticeable progress. I moaned around him, inhaling deeply. The scent of him turned my mind to pap and all I cared about was the fact that he was groaning, calling out, shouting—

"Wait! Wait-wait-wait, Trowa, wait!"

When his words registered, I reluctantly sucked my way off of him, laving the sticky tip with my tongue. "Hm?" I asked.

When his inarticulate moan faded into panting breaths, he rasped, "Not like that. C'mere."

I crawled up his body, kissing and nuzzling as I moved until he'd squirmed his way into my arms and I was leaning over him as I had during our first time together. A dollop of lotion found its way into my palm and then Duo was curling my fingers around him.

"Like this?" I murmured, watching him shudder and thrust.

"Oh, yeah," he approved, rocking his hips up into my tight grasp. His own lotion-slickened hand found me and I clamored on top of him. With one hand cradling the back of his head and my elbow keeping most of my weight off of his chest, we rocked together in each other's grasp. His legs wrapped around my hips and my own name became synonymous with "more" and "yes" and "please."

Oh God, I loved how he said my name. It sounded like the French word it had been drawn from, but rich and creamy and savoy. As if the syllables had melted in his mouth. I rewarded him for each utterance: sucking his earlobe or rubbing my cheek over his chest or dipping my tongue into his hot mouth. God, he was lekker.

It took longer this way – or, at least, that was how it seemed – but our gazes locked time and time again, heightening the intensity and charging the air between us. Every nuance of his pleasure was expressed openly for me to see. I moved with him, watching his want and his need, my mind empty of all else. And when he came I felt it with my entire being: his muscles firmed beneath his smooth, flawless skin; a very fine sheen of sweat blossomed from neck to navel; his breathing turned so shallow he was nearly holding his breath; his hips pumped faster and his eyes unfocused. I watched him come, heard him gasp my name, felt his free hand clutch my hip even as his other tightened around me. All of it conspired to push me over the edge as well.

As I shuddered and panted against his shoulder, I silently thanked him. I'd had every intention of bringing him off with my mouth but, if I had, I would have missed feeling his pleasure overtake him. I would have missed the gift of his gaze locked with mine as we'd moved together. Even though I'd planned to make love to him, Duo had made love to _me._ Not so much with his body, but with his voice, thick with passion, and his eyes, unwavering in their focus. He was extraordinary.

I kissed a meandering path over his neck and shoulder. Between our slick and soon-to-be-sticky bellies, he reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers in a messy grip. The fingertips of his other hand roved up and down my spine, dancing.

"Hmm," I informed him, arching into the teasing touches.

"Wow," he complimented and I chuckled. I'd liked it, too.

"So, I'm gonna go out on another limb here—" he began and I mumbled playfully, "In the middle of winter?"

He snorted softly and continued, "And I'm gonna guess that you missed me today."

By way of answer, I caught his lips with mine and kissed him thoroughly. I watched his eyelids slide shut and I felt a new wave of heat crest through me when his tongue slid against mine. God, he was so open and warm and lush. He was like the very water he'd become a master of last Sunday, a whirlpool swirling around me, drowning me. I groaned; Duo had already promised never to ask me to leave him, but sucking me into his soul and never letting me go would be even better.

"Was that supposed to be an answer?" he teased when I let him have use of his mouth. "Or the equivalent of an after-dinner mint?"

I growled. "It was that thing they do between courses." I'd seen a couple of larny dinners in the films we'd watched thus far. That seemed like a fair comparison.

"Clearing the dishes?" he quipped.

"Uh-hm," I answered, licking his earlobe.

He fidgeted. "We're still covered in leftovers."

I'd noticed, but I still didn't give rocks about clean-up.

"And you haven't answered my question."

"Which was?" I mumbled against his neck.

He slid out from under my mouth and captured my jaw with his free hand. "Did you miss me?"

"Ja, mos ja," I breathed, and pulled back so I could smooth the palm of my dry hand over the mark on the inside of his thigh. "Did you miss me back?"

He grinned. "Nope."

"Pardon?" I coughed, my brows arching upward.

"I missed a helluvalot more than just your _back,_ baby."

"Ah." I smirked. "That's all right, then."

"Love your priorities, man," he informed me, smirking in return.

"Do you?"

"Yeah, because it means you're probably not gonna tweak when I tell you I totally spaced on grabbing the box of Kleenex on our way in here."

I snorted. "Was there a box out there?" I hadn't noticed.

He stretched an arm over the edge of the bed and groped blindly for something on the floor. "A question—for the ages," he agreed, wincing as he searched. I was about to offer to help when he came up with his undershirt clutched in his fist and crowed with delight. "Ah-hah! Towel substitute acquired."

I was still smiling when we finished clearing away the evidence. No longer in danger of soiling the sheets we'd just put down the night before, I sat up and ran my hands along the inside of his still-spread thighs. He grinned up at me, making no move to cover himself. Oh, yes. When Duo gives himself, he gives his all.

"What?" he prodded me, jerking his chin in the direction of the hungry smile I could feel clenching my jaw together and pulling my lips wide.

I dragged my fingers over his softened length and brushed my thumb back and forth against his sac. "What I wouldn't give for an encore," I confessed. I wasn't hard, but I wanted to be. I wasn't done with him yet.

He gave me a slightly twisted grin. "It's not even four-thirty. Unless you've got a hot date tonight, I'd say an encore is a definite possibility."

"Oh," I answered, feigning disappointment, "but I do have a hot date."

He tried to glare at me, but he could already see where I was going with this. "Anyone I know?"

"Ja," I whispered, tracing the edge of his bruise with my thumb. And before he could ask the question simmering in the depths of his dark eyes, I added, "And he's very hot."

"Say lekker," he ordered, grinning.

"Lekker," I obliged. "Befokken lekker." The skin on his forearms pebbled into gooseflesh, so I said it again. "My lekker kerel," I told him, speaking low and soft as I drew a palm down the center of his chest, "I smaak you stukkend."

"That sounds painful," he observed, but he didn't even pretend to be worried.

"It isn't." I leaned over him, covering him with my body again, and nudged against his lips until he opened his mouth and kissed me, invited me in, rocked his hips against mine, and rekindled the heat between us. I didn't object when Duo shoved at my chest and rolled me off of him. He pinned me to the mattress and I encircled his hips with my legs: I didn't care what he did so long as he did it with me.

I was tempted to unravel his braid, but his hand, once-again coated with lotion, encircled my firming length and gave a slow, steady pull, erasing every thought from my mind.

I was right about Duo being a bloody good dancer. "Lekker swaai," I informed him as he thrust against me, aligning our hardening lengths. I watched his hips move in tight circles, rubbing our sacs together in teasing motions that heightened my arousal but offered no relief. The play of his muscles beneath his skin mesmerized me until I was nothing but a collection of hot blood and tingling skin held together by need.

He strung me along like my pleasure was his. Kisses and caresses, a strong grip and a teasing touch: Duo investigated my reactions to all of it. Through it all, though, his gaze was locked with mine. It was a touch in and of itself.

When I finally felt the pull of completion hauling me toward release, Duo's hot mouth was panting breaths against my chest and his hands were on my hips, guiding my thrusts as he surged between my thighs, his length rushing and rubbing against mine, slick and hard. I grasped his shoulders, his braid wound around my wrist, and gave in. I didn't even have the breath to warn him.

He gasped when the heat washed over both of us and then he groaned. "So fucking hot," he nearly whined, pressing his mouth to my neck.

"Come for me, bokkie," I murmured, rubbing my cheek against the flyaway strands of hair concealing his ear from me.

"Yes…" he agreed, thrusting faster against my belly and its renewed slickness. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held him tight until he braced himself up on his elbows and, gasping, met my gaze as his release pulsed out between us.

"We made another mess," he informed me between heaving breaths, clearly done in.

I chuckled.

"And I think your hot date is outta gas."

I lowered my feet to the mattress and ran my hands down his back until I was massaging his arse.

"Oh, fuck," he remarked, rocking into my grasp. "Yeah. Completely outta gas. Not even fumes left. Otherwise you would totally be firing up my rockets right now."

"Could be a delayed reaction," I teased.

"Hah! Yeah, come back later when my batteries are recharged."

We sacrificed a pillowcase to clean-up and then Duo claimed the shower. "There's room for two if you _don't_ behave yourself," he invited.

I accepted.

"Oooh, yes. Body soap," he mumbled between sucking in a breath and biting his lower lip. "Best thing ever."

I had to agree. It was very, very nice replicating that slippery lotion feeling _everywhere_ our bodies came into contact. The hot water and the steam were secondary. All I cared about was the way my arms slid over his torso and his hips rocked into mine. If not for the soap bubbles on his neck I probably would have marked him again.

"Jesus. Christ. Fuck. Trowa," he said, each word a sentence unto itself.

I would have laughed if not for the image of _Duo_ thrusting inside me. "It has to be you," I mumbled.

"Me?" he repeated, clearly confused.

I explained: "You. Fucking me."

"Oooh, hell yes," he groaned. When his soapy hands slid down to my arse and his sudsy fingers dipped between the cheeks, I wholeheartedly encouraged him. "This OK?" he checked as I felt him rub hesitantly against the puckered skin he'd discovered.

I shouted. I panted and whined. I pulled him closer. I rocked against him harder.

"I'll take that as a yes."

It was most definitely a yes.

Neither he nor I got truly hard this time, but our cocks were full and heavy and I wasn't even sure if I came, per se. I only felt a shimmering wave of heat and then, suddenly, my strength was gone. The shower wall held me upright and breathing became my number one priority.

"Duo?" I wheezed, wondering if he was all right.

"Hmm, damn," he informed me, leaning heavily against my chest and more or less impersonating a wet noodle. "Damn."

"Are you freaking out?" I asked, using one of the phrases he'd taught me over the years.

"Hm? Why?"

"Er, what I just said… I thought… You said that was off-limits."

"Oh. Uh, it was. Yesterday."

I snorted out a laugh.

"And it kinda still is. We need lube and condoms first and… yeah."

"I'll add them to the shopping list."

"Hah! You would, too."

Definitely.

Bracing himself on his hands, he pushed himself off of me until we were nose-to-nose. "I think I should warn you," he whispered, the teasing light in his eyes flattening into something somber and then glowing with a morbid passion, "I will go absolutely and irrevocably batshit on anyone who even thinks about touching you."

The declaration was both completely random and very hot, but it was that look in his eyes – that strange, icy hunger – that made my breath catch and my pulse spike. It would have caused me a moment's pause if I hadn't already become accustomed to Duo's conversational riptide.

"Turnabout is fair play," I replied, tilting my chin forward and touching our lips together briefly. Well, I meant for it to be brief. Duo opened his mouth and sucked out my tongue. He placed his hand over my chest, pressing against the clay medallion he'd given me so long ago and his fingers curled until I felt the bite of his nails in my skin.

"I'm serious," he said leaning back and pushing me up against the tiles. That darkness flickered deep in his eyes again. "Someone makes a move on you and they'll be guaranteed a personal introduction to the God of Death."

Taking a chance, I tangled my fingers in his wet hair roughly. It was a bold move given the hunger pulling his smile into an expression of too many sharp teeth, but I needed his undivided attention. Also, I did not care for the fact that he was scaring me a bit. I channeled my fear into aggression and growled, "I'll help you get rid of the body."

For a moment, that mad, predatory grin on his face remained… and then he laughed, shaking my hand loose and doodling a pattern on my chest around the amulet. "Awesome," he approved. "You're awesome, babe."

"You should meet my teacher," I answered, concealing my relief behind a quick kiss. Before another current brought his darkness to the surface, I pressed the bottle of shampoo into his hands. "Lather me up and rinse me off. I'll deal with supper tonight."

"Wow. You spoil me," he replied as he upended the shampoo bottle into his palm.

I hooked an arm around his waist and leaned in to nip his ear. "Then I'd better eat you up quick."

He wiggled out of my grasp and I let him go. "Promises, promises," he teased and got to work.

It was my turn to come through on dinner, so – naturally – I fell rather short of the mark. I was glaring down at the pot of Spaghetti-Os in mute frustration when Duo padded up behind me and slid his arms round my waist.

"Italian for dinner!" he enthused and then he sniffed the slightly smoky air.

"Scorched," I added, struggling to cling to my irritation.

"En flambé," he corrected and kissed the side of my neck. "You are a man of many, many talents."

I snorted out a laugh. "Cooking… er, _re-heating_ is not one of them."

"Say no more. I've got it covered." He untangled himself from around me and moved to fetch two soup bowls. That was when I noticed that he was not only barefoot but he'd left his hair down. Thank God the soup ladle was made of some kind of resin; if it'd been made of metal, it would have made a much louder noise when it slipped from my nerveless fingers and plunked back into the pot.

Duo didn't notice. Thrusting the bowls at me, he instructed, "Fill 'em up."

As I did – taking care not to embarrass myself with more displays of hormone-induced clumsiness – he opened up a loaf of bread and started buttering slice after slice.

"You ever had beans-on-toast?" he asked, setting a paper-serviette-supported tower of buttered bread on the table.

"Ja."

"Same principle."

I followed his lead as he slathered the non-perishable pasta onto a slice before rolling it all up for easy consumption. Amazingly enough, it was edible. I'd been in love with Duo for years but, in that moment, I felt it happen all over again. After we finished eating, he carried our dishes over to the sink. I trapped him against the counter and, when he turned around, I moved in for a deep and very appreciative kiss.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything," he began when I decided to save some room for dessert, "but what was that for?"

"You fixed my cooking."

He grinned. "And if that's the thanks I get… I'll do it again!"

I was already looking forward to it.

Duo popped a DVD into the player, but we didn't watch the film. I had no interest in it when I had the curtain of Duo's hair to pet and his smooth skin to explore beneath his long-sleeved Yankees T-shirt. It took very little persuasion for me to get him to pay attention to me instead of the film. Duo, perhaps drawing inspiration from his shirt, explained the concept of first base, second, third, and then the homerun. In detail. And it turned out that there _were _tissues in the living room after all. Very convenient.

We were both exhausted by the time we fell into bed at nearly two a.m. and yet, when I next opened my eyes, it was still dark outside and I was, inexplicably, completely awake. _All _of me, that is. For a moment, I snuggled against his back, spooning him until we were almost one person. My arousal pressed mindlessly against his hip, which was warm and firm. My hand moved of its own accord, greedily palming the strong curve of a thigh muscle beneath his too-big shorts and then the flat terrain of his belly below his bunched-up shirt. I'm sure he woke up long before my fingers tunneled between his waistband and slumber-warmed skin.

"Nugh… Trowa…" he groaned and I took that as permission to proceed. It was still dark outside, so I couldn't see his eyes. I made up for the lack by teasing his skin with my breath as I pulled his shirt up and over his head, whispering his name and my want in the darkness. His shorts ended up somewhere amongst the linens. The early hour made me a bit lethargic and I stretched over him like a cat, straddling him. He, in turn, rubbed against me, divested me of my shirt and sleep pants, and scratched his blunt nails down my back. Oh, yes. God, yes.

His skin was so warm and pliant. I wanted to be consumed, engulfed, by him… which gave me an idea. He arched and gasped when I guided my length beneath his sac and between his hot, bare thighs. "All right?" I asked, massaging his bobbing length.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he informed me, thrusting up, seeking more of my touch as I rocked downward, shuddering at the heat and the strength of his thigh muscles surrounding me. "Y-you're wet," he moaned and I drew the pad of my thumb over his tip.

"You as well."

We moved slowly toward our goal, stopping to shiver, to grope and kiss, to pant and whisper. When I felt him swell in my lotion-slickened grasp, when I tasted tiny droplets of sweat on his firming chest muscles, I worked him faster and thrust down harder. He came moments before I did, painting my hand with his essence as I did the same to the backs of his thighs and the bed sheet below.

"Oh my God," he moaned, rubbing and squirming against me as I panted and rolled my hips in the lazy afterglow. "That was… so hot, Tro. Holy sh—"

And, at that precise moment, our alarm went off.

Bugger and fuck.

Given that the hand closest to the alarm was indisposed, I had to reach over with my other arm to shut it off. When I did, I lost my balance. I slid off of Duo, felt the edge of the mattress brush my hip, and then I was landing on my arse on the floor. "Eish!"

"Shit!" I heard his hand slam against the snooze button and all was silent except for our breathing. "Tro, are you OK?"

I could hear him scrambling for the lamp and I reached out a hand to stop him. "I'm fine," I said, groping for his arm. "But if you love me at all, don't turn on the light." I could only imagine how ridiculous I looked sitting here bare-arsed with come smeared over my hand and belly and thighs. Probably as ridiculous as I felt.

Duo snorted out a laugh. "If a guy falls on his ass and nobody sees it, did it really happen?" he posited and I laughed. It sounded one of Bryce's Zen sayings. Something about a tree falling in a forest.

"Ja," I agreed and got up. I wiped my hand on the sheet and gathered up a corner to attend to the rest of me. Duo sat up and leaned over me, locating my shoulder with his lips and kissing his way up to my jaw. I turned my head and captured his lips.

"Good morning," I said when I'd finished suckling his tongue and he'd boldly caressed my entire torso and back. If we didn't get up now, we'd end up back in bed.

He giggled. "I never thought I'd say this, but yeah, it is a good morning."

I could hear the truth in his wondering tone. I'd already made his day better. I marveled yet again at his openness. He gave me so much without even trying. And probably without even realizing.

It wasn't until I slid behind the wheel of the car that I realized I hadn't been quite as honest with him. The prom tickets and their envelope bent awkwardly in my pocket, poking me in the side through my sweater like an accusing elbow-to-the-ribs.

Duo noticed my wince.

"You OK?" he asked, settling into the passenger seat with a yawn.

I knew I ought to feel bad about that yawn. It was completely and utterly my fault that he was tired. Instead of contrition, it was pride and satisfaction that I had to beat back. Duo had accepted me as his lover; Duo had let me wake him and have my way with him; Duo was _mine._

Which meant that I ought to take better care of him, both at home and when we ventured out.

Before I could come up with a reply to his inquiry, Duo hummed. "Hm… that sounds an awful lot like a guilty silence you're not-speaking over there."

I snorted and put the car in gear. Lifting my arm over the back of the seat, I started backing out of the parking space for apartment 1502. "How do you know what a _guilty_ silence sounds like?"

"I'm an expert," he claimed, his words slurring through another yawn. "The rare and mysterious Trowa is capable of many unique and identifiable silences both in and outside his natural habitat—"

"You watched another documentary in Advanced Biology yesterday, didn't you?" I accused drolly. Shifting into overdrive, I pointed the bonnet of the car in the direction of the street.

He chuckled. "Hey now. I'm not accusing you of OD-ing on anatomy videos, am I?"

"Anato—!" I bit off the word with a growl. "I didn't hear you complaining."

"That's because I—" Another yawn. "—wasn't."

Right. I did feel guilty. Despite his reassurances, his eyes were bloodshot and there were shadows beneath them. His face was too pale and his smile, while sincere, lacked its usual exuberance. "It won't happen again," I forced myself to promise.

"Now _that_ would be a damn shame. And a damn waste," Duo objected and I shifted helplessly in my seat when his palm quested over my thigh and his fingertips dragged along the inseam of my denims, up and down. "Just swing through the McDonald's drive-thru, babe."

I did.

The scented steam from the badly brewed coffee swarmed the interior of the car like angry bees, but Duo sighed happily, sipping delicately until I pulled up in front of the school. To my surprise, he slid the beverage into the cup holder nearest me. "Can't take it inside with me," he explained, "so the rest is for you… not that you need it."

He sounded just a little bitter.

"Should I say I'm sorry?" I checked.

"Yeah, but not for this morning. Don't you dare apologize for that."

"What am I apologizing for?"

He grinned and winked. "The hell Hilde's gonna put me through until I break down and tell her _why _I'm a zombie today… and then the hell she's gonna put me through for actually telling her."

"You could lie," I offered.

"Yeah, but that's not really my style."

"I've noticed."

He squeezed my knee before opening the car door and pulling himself out with the aid of what he called the "oh-shit handle."

"I'll make it up to you," I belatedly offered, my knee still tingling.

Duo turned and leaned down into the open doorway. He smiled. "Oh, I know you will." His gaze traveled down my chest to my lap and then back up. "Have a good day."

It was not an easy request to fulfill, not when all I had to look forward to was lecture after lecture as I crammed myself into one bloody hybrid chair-and-desk contraption after another. Clearly, the befokken things had not been designed for people with arms and legs as long as mine. And I wasn't even the biggest student. Not by far.

"What's up, man?"

I nodded in greeting as I set my lunch tray down at my usual table in the cafeteria. "Ja-nee," I told Odin with a shrug. "Howsit?"

He shrugged in reply.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the oke except for the fact that he was built like a professional rugby player – a Number Eight and not a kilogram or centimeter less – and loomed over everyone else in the building. Most of the other students tended to avoid him. They avoided me as well. Civilians could generally sense someone who stood out from the rest of the flock, in one way or another, and they steered themselves clear.

How strange that Duo had been drawn to me instead.

I slid into my seat and glanced across the table at Marie May, who couldn't have been more than sixteen years old and was very pregnant. She was the only other student who seemed immune to Odin's impressive size and my inexpressive silence. From the first day of the winter semester, she'd made a habit of sitting with us and nattering on about this or that as if we were two of her closest girl-friends.

"Hi, Trowa!" Her cheeks dimpled as she grinned angelically up at me. "How's Duo?"

I felt my lips twitch in answer. Her smile was almost as impossible to resist as Duo's was. "Fine."

"You say that every day," she complained, rolling her eyes. "Try using a new word."

_Fokken exhausted _came to mind. So did _pressed senseless._ But those each consisted of two words. "Caffeinated," I finally answered.

"And just why would he need caffeine?" she teased, ignoring her Salisbury steak in favor of interrogating me.

"I don't wanna know," Odin interjected on a mutter.

I strangled back my snort of humor as the huge oke attempted to distract himself by staring in the direction of the nearest window. It was snowing. Again.

"I'd rather not say," I agreed and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Ja, he knew I was in a relationship with my "roommate," Duo. After showing up for my first day of school with Duo's mark plainly displayed, I was pretty sure everyone had sussed out the fact that I was in a relationship with _someone_. I'd been proud to let all and sundry know that I was wanted, that my heart and my loyalty had been claimed. What I hadn't anticipated were the speculative looks that a few of the girls had given me before they'd noticed the telltale bruise on my throat. They'd let me alone, thankfully.

Although I hadn't told anyone that I had a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend, the fact that Duo's name was the only one I mentioned regularly had apparently been more than enough for Marie May to deduce the truth. That was almost too much information for Odin, but Marie May was constantly trying to pry details out of me.

"That's OK. Maybe I can guess anyway!" she announced, right on cue. "Hm, either Duo's not a morning person or you guys had a late night."

I was not about to answer that. I gave her a long stare. She didn't look apologetic. Yesterday, when she'd accused me of grinning the grin of He Who Has Gotten Laid, I hadn't denied the accusation fast enough. Now I was paying the price.

I cleared my throat.

"I don't see any new hickeys," she added playfully, craning her neck to get a better look at my neck from the other side of the table.

I didn't tell her that was because I didn't need them anymore. Just as our paths had begun to take us to separate places for the majority of the day, I'd _needed _Duo to mark me. I'd needed some tie to him that would bridge the distance between us. Now that our routines had settled, my anxiety had evaporated. For the most part. I couldn't be completely relaxed and confident what with our every move being monitored. But the marks hadn't been about that. Of course I'd bear any mark Duo chose to leave on me, and it made me harden just thinking about the one he'd asked for, the one I'd left on the inside of his pale, smooth, flawless thigh, but I didn't _need _it. Attending separate schools hadn't created a rift between us; I'd been a chop to fear that it would. Thank God Duo hadn't held it against me. His understanding still left me breathless.

"Or maybe there _are _love bites somewhere else—"

If I didn't distract Marie May, Odin was going to cover his ears and start humming to drown her out. I hastily countered with the first topic that came to mind thanks to a timely, papery poke from my coat pocket: "What do either of you know about prom?"

Odin grunted. "Waste of money."

"It is not!" Marie May insisted and, seeing the mocking expression on Odin's unremarkable face, gave me her undivided attention. "It's really great, Trowa. Everyone dresses up and it's so romantic and all the guys are so dashing—!"

"Goddamn penguin suits," Odin remarked.

Marie May rolled her eyes. "They are not! Look, Trowa, if you've been invited, you should go. Totally."

"I'll take your recommendation under advisement," I said, picking at my salad. Why did they always put shredded cheese on every bloody thing in this country?

Odin laughed. "Everyone in South Africa talk like you, man?"

I smirked. "Just the larnies and boykies. Good luck trying to suss out what an oke from some dorpie is on about."

Marie May giggled. "Your accent is so cool."

Odin just sighed and shook his head.

Thankfully, that was the end of Marie May's investigation into my private affairs for the day. Unfortunately, both Odin and I were subjected to a detailed description of what all three of her older sisters had worn to their proms.

When I went to pick up Duo after school, he more or less cannonballed into the passenger seat to escape Hilde.

Reaching out to grab the door handle, he informed her on a weak laugh, "I _told_ you to use your imagination. Creative editing requires too many brain cells."

She braced herself in the open car door before he could pull it shut. "All of which seem to be residing in your di—"

"Don't say it, woman," he cut in with such perfect timing that I sniggered. "Zombification equals squick-tastic version of events. Keep it in mind for the future."

Feeling a bit evil, I leaned into Duo's space and asked Hilde, "Did he tell you how I woke him up?"

"No," she replied, _"that _I wouldn't have minded hearing. Probably. Mr. T-M-I here got _descriptive."_

Duo rolled his eyes. Petulantly, he muttered, "All I said was that being uncircumcised saves on hand lotion."

I barked out a laugh. He met my side-long glance with a cocky and unapologetic smile.

Hilde shuddered in revulsion. "I hate you," she informed him.

"Which is why you keep trying to tell me _– in_ _great and unnecessary detail – _how you and Dorothy managed to puncture your waterbed mattress _again."_

I had to clench my jaw to keep quiet enough to hear Hilde's reply.

"Yeah, and you're the only guy in school who doesn't wanna know."

"So tell _them!"_

"Those cowardly pervs?!" She looked completely aghast. "The only reason they don't come right out and _ask _is fear of Dorothy skinning them and wearing their hides as a mansuit."

"Ugh!" Duo grimaced. "Tell me she wouldn't really do that."

Hilde grinned maliciously. "The thought has crossed her mind."

He shuddered. "Congratulations. You win the squick contest. Now let me close the freakin' car door already."

Expression smug, she did.

"Bugger and fuck," I muttered chuckling as Duo buckled his seatbelt and I put the car in gear. "Never a dull moment."

Duo melted against the seat in vaguely man-shaped pile of exhaustion. "No shit." Guilt revisited me as he sighed out a breath from the depths of his very soul. "I'm so damn glad this day is over with. You have no idea."

"Hm." I bet I did. What I said was, "Pick your poison. I'm buying dinner." It was the least I could do.

We got takeaway from a Chinese restaurant, munching through an order of spring rolls and slurping a bowl of egg drop soup apiece while they boxed up our rice and stirfry. Duo crashed on the sofa the moment we walked in the door. I knelt down next to him and pulled his shoes off his feet before unfurling the blanket that had been folded up over the back of a nearby armchair. Laying it over him – uniform, winter coat, and all – I pressed my lips to his forehead. Although he didn't open his eyes, he mumbled, "Don't apologize."

"All right," I acquiesced.

"Regret nothing," he ordered and I had to admit it was good advice.

"No regrets," I agreed and let him sleep.

After storing our takeaway boxes in the oven, I thought about working on my homework. I had a page of geometry proofs to write, twenty algebra problems to solve, a chapter to read in American history, and the first act of Macbeth to absorb, so I resigned myself to doing that until Duo woke up for dinner.

When he did, we reheated the Chinese food. I was startled when he actually made use of the wooden chopsticks we'd been provided. I was happy with my tablespoon, but it was interesting to watch him use the things. Interesting and enlightening. It appeared I'd only begun to investigate Duo's delightful dexterity.

Dinner consumed and clean-up managed, we crashed on the sofa to digest. I kept Duo's braid out of his way as he lounged back against my chest, using my thighs for armrests as he flipped through the channels. It wasn't long after he started drawing pictures on the knees of my denims and I started nuzzling his exposed neck that he abandoned the telly with a soft "Fuck it." He hit the Power button on the remote and squirmed around to face me. My pulse picked up in anticipation. He was a warm, wonderful weight between my thighs and on my chest. His lips were only a brief stretch away.

With a small, knowing grin, Duo studied my mouth. He groped blindly for a second remote on the low table, picked it up, aimed it at the stereo, and a moment later the opening strains of a symphony softly filled the room.

"Rachmaninoff." I catalogued it absently, still savoring the delicious moment of a soon-to-be kiss. "The Isle of the Dead."

Duo stiffened.

It wasn't until the words left my mouth and echoed back to me that I recalled Duo telling me that the only god was the God of Death. I remembered the grave in the Maxwell family cemetery that he'd walked away from rather than acknowledge. I also remembered how he'd torn down the driveway at the house without even thinking to first put his seatbelt on.

Those things, in and of themselves, had not been all that disturbing, but a pattern was emerging now: in the entryway, the day before I'd started school, I'd been positive I was one misstep away from being _bitten_ rather than just pressed up against the wall and marked. And there were other moments: the sound of glass breaking, which had made my heart leap into my throat even as I'd dived out of the bathroom to come to Duo's aid; the echo of his dark growl as he confessed to wanting to kill the people who had given me my scars; that chilling moment in the shower yesterday when he'd threatened anyone who dared to touch me.

Oh yes, that seething darkness still clung to him, rising to the fore with or without provocation and here I'd just uttered words that might call it forth.

Duo pulled back a bit, tilted his head to the side, and simply looked at me. But no, it wasn't just a look. He seemed to be carefully weighing my soul. I held still for his scrutiny and braced myself.

When he finally spoke, I was completely taken aback. Of course. I should have known by now that it was impossible to predict Duo's reaction to anything.

"I'm pretty sure I'm an idiot." He sat up and grabbed my hand. "C'mon."

I let him haul me out of the living room and down the hallway. I blinked when he pulled me past both his bedroom and mine, dragging me further down to a door at the end of the hall that we'd never opened. When I saw what was on the other side, I understood why.

It was a music room.

And, at the center, stood a magnificent piano. I'd never been in the same room with one before. My fingers tingled with sudden nerves, as if I were about to shake hands with the bloody President of the United States. Although, truthfully, I probably wouldn't feel this anxious were I face-to-face him. No, I was done in by a perfectly benign musical instrument. Of all things.

Duo released me and lifted up the seat on the bench to rifle through several sheets of paper and softcover books inside.

"Ah," he said after a moment, pulling one particularly tattered book out and replacing the cushion. He set the scuffed thing up on the easel and tucked the wooden keyboard cover up out of the way exposing the ebony and ivory themselves before seating himself before them. And then he did the sexiest thing I'd ever seen: he placed his fingers delicately upon the ivory and proceeded to play a scale. It was just a simple scale – one that he repeated up and down the keyboard – but I was transfixed. Perhaps tonight was destined to be yet another night for falling in love with Duo all over again.

He looked up and patted the seat next to him in invitation. I slid in beside him before my knees gave out and I ended up on my arse on the floor for the second time today.

"It's still pretty much in tune," he informed me.

"Is this the piano your—your mother…?"

"Yeah," he said. "My mom used to play this." His lips curved into a nostalgic smile. "She'd play Solo and me to sleep."

I had no response to that.

"I'll warn you now," he began. "I can't play. I mean, really. I suck at the piano, but I can get you started."

"What?"

He nodded toward the keyboard. "Put your fingers on the keys. Like this."

He demonstrated by bouncing his fingertips on the ivory.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my denims before I copied him. Well, I tried to. He leaned over and shifted my hand two keys down.

"OK, good. Let's try C major."

He walked me through the scale until I could do it with both hands in tandem. Then he started to show me how to sound out a melody with my right and a harmony with my left.

"Sweet," he encouraged me. And then he got off the bench and gestured for me to move to the very center of it. He stood behind me and opened the book.

And then he taught me how to read.

It was so simple once he'd explained the system to me. I'd been right to think Duo would make a great teacher. He was patient and thorough, methodical and encouraging.

I remembered being jealous of him in Egypt when he'd read the hieroglyphs on the tomb walls, but if I'd known he could do _this—!_ I didn't know what I would have done. Maybe nothing different. But maybe I would have done nothing _at all:_ maybe I would have been too envious or too in awe of him to kiss him that night under the sail. The very thought was devastating. But I hadn't hesitated. I'd kissed Duo; I'd fallen in love with him; I'd let him change my life – change _me _– and bring us both to this moment.

No, I didn't know what I would or wouldn't have done if I'd known he understood the one skill I'd secretly coveted for as long as I could remember. All I knew _now_ – at this very moment – was that he was incredible. And, incredibly, he was just giving this knowledge to me. I knew he would never ask for anything in return. He wouldn't see it as a debt, a favor, or even a gift. Even after all these years, I couldn't comprehend how someone like him could be real.

But he _was_ real. And he was _mine._

He took me on a journey through the scales, through chords and what I learned were called "arpeggios."

"You doing OK?" he checked, leaning forward to get a clear line of sight to my expression.

I turned my head away from the piano, brushing my lips against his with a smile. I smiled like I had when I'd opened the package he'd sent me via Professor Merquise's faculty mailbox in Cairo and had found a lifeline to him inside. I smiled like I had when he'd sent me his first text message and his second and third…!

I told him, "Ja. I'm fine."

"Good," he answered and then turned a few pages. "Let's skip the rest of this intro stuff for now and try a song."

I looked at the title he'd chosen. My smile fled. I felt myself pale. "This is Beethoven."

I couldn't play something like this. This was a classic, a masterpiece. This was—

"Just notes on a page," Duo insisted softly. "What's the first?" he asked and my hand was moving before I even thought about it. And then I was playing. The melody of Beethoven's _F__ür Elise_ was coaxed out, one hesitant note at a time, from my fingertips. Duo didn't let me pause when I reached the end of the first line.

"Try it again," he urged, pointing me back to the beginning, and the song rolled forth, haltingly at first with a slip and a wrong key and a few notes struck too late, but I kept on in this way – carefully feeling my way through a line of notes and then going back to play it again – until I reached the bottom of the page.

I didn't play the entire song, only the first twenty seconds or so, but…

But I'd played. Beethoven. On the piano.

And then Duo placed my left hand upon the keyboard, twitching his fingers in time and in sympathy as he coached me through fitting the harmony into the melody. I knitted and wove and the air dripped with the color of the notes until I could taste the music, until it soaked into my skin and my heart was beating with it, pumping it through my veins. All the songs on my iPod couldn't compare to this. Those recordings were pale shadows of the magnificent beast itself, which rose at my command as if summoned from some invisible realm.

It was magic.

As the final notes at the bottom of the page were echoing in the room, I blinked, coming back to the here and now, startled by how easily I'd fallen under the spell of the music. I hadn't simply moved my fingers and played a song. I'd _become_ the song.

"Duo…?" I whispered.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Amazing," he breathed. "I had a feeling you would be."

I was shaking. From reaction, perhaps, but reaction to _what? _There were no enemies here, no battles, no close-calls, no near-death-encounters. Duo was here and I was safe and it was only music, wasn't it?

"How did you know?" I heard myself ask. My voice was a trembling thread of its usual tone.

He chuckled, toying with my long bangs with such tenderness that a butterfly's footsteps would have felt like the stomping of an elephant in comparison. He said, "Suddenly, out there on the sofa, it just came to me." He paused and then added, "I bet you know more about music than anyone I've ever met. I was an idiot to only think of this now."

For a moment, I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My next thought tangled me up so badly that words were impossible. Pulling my hands away from the keys, I finally asked, "Am I… was that any good?"

Duo propped a knee up on the bench beside me and wrapped his arms around me. I felt his chin dig into my shoulder. "Now who's being an idiot?" he breathed. "It was unbelievable."

Again, I was speechless.

Duo's hands reached for mine, gathering them as if he were holding something precious and fragile in his grasp. "Should have known," he mused again, shaking his head with wonder. "They're artist's hands. I should have known."

I grasped his fingers and turned on the bench, pulling him down to straddle it, facing me.

"You…" Emotions were running high: I was both terrified and thrilled by the version of myself that I'd just glimpsed, that Duo had just shown me. Just like that night at the dig site, I cradled his face in my hands. I suddenly – urgently – needed him to _know—_ "You remake me."

He gasped. His eyes brightening with tears I knew he wouldn't cry. "Trowa," he breathed.

I'd made love with him so many ways, with all my heart and soul. I'd kissed him gently, deeply, briefly, savoringly. But here, on this piano bench, in the trembling silence of my first music lesson, something happened. Something that moved me so deep into him and him so deep into me… Either we'd just found a state of being beyond that of lovers or I'd never really understood the meaning of the word to begin with.

Right then and there, I promised myself that I would never forget this moment. I would never forget this Duo, this me, and when we kissed, it felt like the sealing of an oath. If I hadn't been fully aware of to whom this room had once belonged, I probably would have had him right there on the piano bench.

When we both pulled back, Duo giggled.

"What?" I asked, already smiling in anticipation of the joke.

"We just had a Hollywood moment."

"Hm?"

"Making out in the general vicinity of a piano."

"How unoriginal of us."

"See, I knew I shouldn't have mentioned it. Greatness ought to be encouraged." He winked.

Inexplicably embarrassed, I mumbled, "Is that what you call it?"

"What _I _call it?" he retorted, trying to look offended. "If I crack open a dictionary and look up the word 'great', guess whose picture they printed there for the definition?"

"Goof," I insisted, leaning forward to place a kiss on the side of his neck. I inhaled deeply, appreciating the warmth trapped there by his messy and sleep-loosened braid. Just for the hell of it, I said, "I was talking about making out."

"Oh. Well, your picture's there, too."

I laughed. God, I loved him.

His fingers trailed through my bangs again. "You wanna keep playing?"

I wasn't sure if I should. The past hour felt like a dream. In some ways, I wished it had been. In others, I dreaded that I was about to wake up. I ought to call it a night and let this newness sink in, but the lure of what else I could create and craft was a siren's song.

"It's all right?" I checked, wondering if I dared to try the next page of the composition.

He chuckled. "Don't even, man. You're practically vibrating." He climbed off of the bench and, planting his hands on my shoulders, turned me back toward the keyboard. "Impress me," he ordered softly.

Smiling, I thumbed the page aside. "You asked for it," I told him.

I put my fingers back on the keys, struck the first note, and then the magic was back and it was filling me up. It made me tingle, much like when Duo touched me but different, complementary. If he was my world, then the music was the air I breathed, and I breathed it in again and again. This wasn't simple survival or the necessity of existing. This was _life_ and _infinity_ and—

—warm arms slid around my shoulders and hugged me back against a chest that I instantly recognized as Duo's. My hands slid off the piano when the final notes of the song misted into silence. I had no idea how long I'd been practicing, of how many times I'd played the song, of how many variations I'd experimented with, but I was optimistic that I'd nearly mastered the whole thing. I still hadn't committed it to memory – not quite – and there were a few bars I was sure needed to be played softer, faster, and I hadn't sussed out the significance of the piano's foot pedals yet, but it was—

"Awesome," Duo purred in my ear.

Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I leaned against him and closed my eyes. I could still hear the music, could still see and feel the keys, haunting me like ghosts.

"C'mon," he urged. "I made French toast."

"Hm?" I opened my eyes and searched for a clock. "How long was I—?"

I didn't bother finishing the question. The clock on the wall said it was nine-thirty. I'd been sitting here for three hours.

_Three hours._

"Duo?" Heart pounding, I sought him out for confirmation.

He nodded. "C'mon," he repeated and, when I stood up, I actually felt a little dizzy. My stomach growled. Duo laughed softly. "Yeah, that's what I thought. In a contest of Beethoven versus Mongolian Beef…" He shrugged eloquently. "I'm pretty sure Genghis Khan gets his ass whooped every time."

I still couldn't believe that I'd been absorbed in the same song for three hours. Surely, I would have noticed. Surely, I would have driven Duo insane. Surely, he was teasing me; he must have snuck in and changed the time on the clock before I'd noticed. But all the clocks in the apartment read 9:30 or some close approximation of it. Even my wristwatch, which I was still wearing. While I didn't doubt that Duo could have gone to all the trouble of changing every single clock – even the one on the DVD player – I didn't really believe he would have. And it would have been impossible for him to fiddle with my watch.

"Three hours?" I asked, numb with disbelief as he nudged me toward a seat and a plate of still-steaming French toast.

"Yup."

It made no sense for him to look so befokken pleased with himself. I'd just ignored him for three solid hours. "What did you do?" I ventured. "While I was…?"

"Company stuff," he said. "Got that big video conference on Saturday."

And I had another training session with Septum. I was not particularly looking forward to it.

He added, "And I ran an errand."

A forkful of toast nearly at my mouth, I froze. "You went out?"

Duo's grin was crooked. "Huh. I guess you really did space out on me."

I blinked at him as my silent panic mounted.

He explained, "I _told_ you I was going out."

I had no memory of this. Was _this_ the price to be paid for my time spent at the piano? I was completely and utterly terrified. I set my fork down before I drove it and the bits of toast I'd speared with it into the table, tines first. "Did I reply?"

"You sorta grunted. To be honest, I didn't wanna bug you."

I felt my jaw clench. I forced myself to breathe. Dear God, if he'd been approached by Khushrenada or one of his lackeys while he'd been out… If he'd been threatened… If he'd been _taken…!_ When would I have noticed? How would I have found him? What would I have done? Who would I have gone to for help?

But I already knew the answer to that last point: no one. There was no one on whom I could rely. There was no one who would believe my accusations against Treize Khushrenada. And by the time my troupe arrived to back me up, Duo could be anywhere in the world. He could be _dead._

Oh, fuck. Bugger and fuck and _fuck all._ I could have lost him.

My hands were shaking so I fisted them. I had to calm down.

"Tro?" he prompted questioningly.

"Bug me," I rasped, not trusting myself to meet his gaze.

"OK," he agreed, giving me a narrow-eyed look as I struggled not to scream at him. "I'll try harder next time."

I let out one more breath and looked up. Although the mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes assured me that he definitely would try harder next time, I doubted there would be a need for it. I was not going anywhere near that fokken piano ever again.

The decision wrenched my heart like I'd taken a spanner to it, but it eased the clamp around my lungs and released my limbs from the rack of uncertainty that had drawn me taut. I was not choosing a bloody instrument over Duo's safety. The end.

I drew in a deep, cleansing breath and picked up my fork. Disaster had been averted and I had Duo all to myself. I endeavored to make the most of it. I kicked him playfully under the table and, when he smiled at me, everything was all right again.

French toast demolished and dishwasher loaded, I led Duo back to the sofa. Mozart was playing on the radio now. I pulled Duo down with me and, eager to forget the close call, I asked with a smile, "Where were we?"

"Oh, you mean before we were so _rudely _interrupted by my brilliant idea?" he inquired on a chuckle as he crouched over me.

"Ja," I concurred, just to earn myself a measure of playful retribution. "Then."

"Hm, well…" he drawled, leaning closer. "I think I was here—" He snuggled down between my knees again and laid his folded arms over my chest. "—and you were like so—" He tugged on my sweatshirt until my mouth was a small stretch away from his. "—and we were in the middle of one of those long, drawn-out looks that drip with unresolved sexual tension and—"

I kissed him. Not just to shut him up or because he was expecting me to, but because touching him – tasting him – anchored me. I knew who I was when I was with him. The me who had spent the last three hours in some kind of meditative trance, the me who had ignored Duo and let him go out without any backup whatsoever, drove me absolutely bosbefok. But Duo was fine. He was safe and here and kissing him made all that residual fear melt away.

Mindful of how easy it would be to pull his hair, I gently worked my fingers into its depths and was rewarded by his purr of appreciation. God but he denied me nothing. And I would give him anything. Not in payment of a debt, but as an investment in the future. Our future. And it was starting right now.

* * *

NOTES:

Marie May is, you guessed it, Mariemeia from Endless Waltz. She's not Treize's daughter in this, though. No relation at all in this AU. Also, Odin Lowe (Heero's caretaker in the Episode Zero manga) is closer to Trowa's age and has never met Heero. I'm just borrowing some GW "fringe" characters to fill up the cast in "Tomb Raiders."

Well, I hope there was something in the 13,000+ words of this chapter that you liked. Leave me a review and let me know! An appreciated author updates faster. Just so you know.

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South African English Slang:

Howsit? = What's up? (US)

Ja-nee = so-so, yeah (but not an enthusiastic "yes")

Klap = to smack or hit

Mos = duh (can be said before the object of the sentence rather than placed at the end like "duh" in English)

Pap = a traditional maize porridge (similar to grits or cream of wheat, in other words: mush)

Skinner = gossip

Skop = to kick (as in, "kick someone's ass")

Smaak = to like or love something

Soek = to start trouble

Stukkend = broken, a lot ("I smaak you stukkend" roughly translates to "I love you madly")


	12. Prom Night, Part 2

**Warnings:** language, YAOI (male/male sexytiems)

DISCLAIMER - I totally don't own Gundam Wing, but I do borrow that little corner of Animeland a _lot. _Without permission.

* * *

Recommended music for _Prom Night, Part 2_ - "Juliet" by Emilie Autumn

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**Prom Night - Part 2** (Trowa POV)

"How can you _do_ that?"

I finished the sit-up I was in the middle of and stayed upright, meeting Duo's incredulous stare. I'd been doing my basic workout routine during his showers ever since we'd come to New York. Tonight, as I'd been contemplating the piano lesson and my uselessness in watching his back, I'd come to the conclusion that it was time to add a small bit to Duo's already heaping plate. Now that he was free from his obligations to the swim team, he might have time for other forms of training. I needed him to make the time. For my own peace of mind. So I'd prolonged my workout and made sure he caught me.

I cleared my throat, feeling inexplicably nervous about the manipulation I was about to implement. "It's routine," I finally replied.

He rolled his eyes and held out a hand for me to grasp. "No, babe," he muttered, pulling me to my feet when I accepted his offer. "I meant: how can you do that after, y'know…"

I smirked. "After I came so hard my brain liquefied and dribbled out of my ears?" One thing had led to another on the sofa earlier, as it usually did.

"Hah! Took the words right outta my mouth."

"Then I'd better put them back where I got them," I answered, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him close. He was wearing his old Rocky Horror Picture Show T-shirt. In the intervening years, repeated washings had left it a bit tatty, but it made me smile. It made me remember the day we met. It made me marvel at how far he and I have come. Here I was with my arms around him, talking openly about being with him, reveling in every liberty he permitted me.

He sighed softly even before I kissed him and, as kisses went, it was deep. It was long. It was leisurely. That was yet another thing about Duo that left me overwhelmed: he never rushed these moments; he never cut our kisses short; he never let the outside world come between us.

When we parted, he kept his palms flat on my bare and slightly sweaty chest. He leaned his pelvis into mine, letting me hold him very, very close. "You know this building has a gym."

I nuzzled against his ear so that he wouldn't see my grin of triumph. "I don't know the key code for the door."

Duo told me what it was and, the next afternoon, I hauled him in there with me.

"Dude," he objected, still chewing on the last bite of his after-school peanut butter sandwich. "What's the deal?"

"You promised," I began, couching the words in the form of a challenge that I knew he wouldn't be able to let lie, "to show me how well you fought once we had a mat at our disposal."

His gaze slid in the direction of the five-meter by five-meter wrestling mat beside the dumbbell rack.

"Right," he drawled, his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk.

I knew he could fight, but with our hands and feet bare and a stable, unlikely-to-leave-bruises-or-break-bones surface at our disposal, I could finally see what kind of moves he knew. As he wiggled and twisted out of my grip time and time again, my estimation of his abilities went up notch another notch.

While we circled each other for the sixth time, I appraised, "Very nice, but what would you do if I grabbed your braid?"

His grin was one of warning. "I'd take it personally."

Right. Perhaps we'd better get mouth guards, head gear, and hand wraps before we ventured into the realm of dirty street fighting.

We spent over an hour in the gym together. We were the only ones there and, more than once, I was tempted to pin him to the mat and show him just how lekker I thought he was. On the two occasions when I _did _manage to take him down and keep him there, I had to forcibly remind myself that another building resident could walk in at any moment. And when Duo managed to get _me _flat on my back – thanks to a rather boisterous tackle – I could see the same thoughts glittering in his eyes and stretching his smile wide.

While we were on the mat, we restricted our contact to wrestling maneuvers, and I didn't dare touch him once we'd stepped off it. I made myself wait until the apartment door had shut behind us before stalking him toward the shower as, grinning, he dropped articles of musky and damp clothing along the way.

We'd taken a shower together just a few days earlier, but it seemed like far too much time had passed in between. As our wet, slick chests slid against each other and our sudsy hands groped across defined shoulders, down flat bellies, and over toned thighs, I considered the very real possibility that I might be developing an addiction to him.

When I dared to smooth a palm over his arse, he whined and wiggled, lifting one foot up and bracing it on the edge of the tub in what looked like an invitation.

"All right?" I checked, rocking gently against him as my fingertips ventured very slowly between his taut buttocks.

"Hmm, please…" he hissed, and – heart pounding, blood rushing, and vision swimming with arousal – I touched him there. "Oooh," he informed me, dragging out that single note of approval until I shivered and trailed my fingers over him again. "Ungh!" His eyes slid shut and his fingers curled until his blunt nails were digging into my shoulders.

"Ahh, Duo…" I massaged him with increasing fervor until he was loose, until I could have slipped a digit inside him and felt him. I could imagine it: deep, hot, soft, strong, tight…

And then he grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away, and I found myself grasping his hard length as he collected mine. His hand at the back of my neck and mine on his hip anchored us together as the swell of need crested and poured over-through-_out_ of us. I came first. How could I not with _those_ thoughts riding me? Those thoughts of a part of me being _inside _him, of him wanting me the same way I wanted him?

We panted until we kissed. We kissed until we caught our breaths. Then I washed and rinsed my hair before ducking out and surrendering the stall to him. I'd only get in the way while he washed his hair. Besides, I had something to take care of.

Hair dry and clothes donned once again, I headed back downstairs to the car to collect the shopping bag in the boot. Returning, I heard the shower still running, so I was in no rush to stow my purchases. When I knelt down beside Duo's nightstand and opened the drawer, I was met with a surprising sight. A box of condoms, a tube of lubricant, a box of tissues, a pack of moist towelettes, and even a couple actual flannels had been crammed into the space.

I blinked. A frown tugged at my brow as I wondered when Duo would've had the opportunity to buy these without my knowledge.

_The piano lesson._

Ah. Of course. His errand.

Speaking of which, it was only a matter of time before he requested that I give him his space. What was I going to do then? Follow him like a bloody stalker? Or was I going to remind him of Khushrenada and watch his happiness be replaced by tension and fury? Or was I going to say nothing and trust him to look after himself?

Duo _could _look after himself in a fight. He'd shown me that in the car park outside the arena where the state swim meet had been held. I'd almost asked him if the fight had been triggered by Khushrenada, but at the last possible moment I'd substituted my second greatest fear: that someone would try to hurt him because he'd chosen me.

But no. The reason for the fight had been mundane, thankfully. That didn't mean that things would be so easily dealt with next time, though. And given the fact that Khushrenada had faded rather too wellinto the woodwork, I was sure there _would _be a next time.

And was I going to make him face his enemy one out?

I shook my head and sighed. I had to stop inventing complications that didn't yet exist. Duo would face that bliksem Khushrenada when he was ready. Until then, I'd stay as close as I could and I'd make sure that Duo _wanted _me close. Which was precisely what the new items in the bureau were implying.

I felt a wry grin tug at my lips. It looked like the condoms and lube that _I'd _picked up on the way to fetch him from school today wouldn't be necessary. I went across the hall to my bedroom and stowed them there, just in case they were needed.

I thought it rather ridiculous for me to have a separate room, but Duo seemed to think that I needed my own space. I didn't. I'd never had a private space all to myself before. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it. If not for the fact that I needed someplace to keep my clothes – Duo's bedroom closet and dresser were practically on the verge of exploding – I probably would have moved my things into his room and been done with it.

But, considering the bad luck Hilde and Dorothy had with beds, perhaps it was wise to have a backup. The condoms and lube safely stashed, I pondered whether Duo was waiting for me to discover his preparations and inquire about them or if he was intending for them to be a surprise. Still, this did _not_ seem like the sort of thing he'd try to surprise me with…

I sighed. When in doubt, ask. So, when Duo emerged from the bathroom and found me on the sofa trying to kill time by absorbing the international news report, I turned off the telly and waited until he'd plopped down next to me before I said, "I noticed the additions to your bedside bureau. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

To my surprise, Duo smirked in reply. Giving me a conspiratorial look, he countered, "I noticed the passengers in your coat pocket. Is there anything _you'd_ like to tell _me?"_

For a moment, I had no fokken idea what he was scheming. I blinked at him. He arched his brows and tilted his head toward the front door where his winter coat and mine were hanging up.

And then the penny dropped.

"Bugger and fuck," I hissed, letting my head fall back against the sofa cushions. To his credit, Duo didn't say anything. He just sat and watched me, his chin propped up in his hand as he leaned against the back of the sofa. "How did you find them?" I eventually asked, hoping to buy a bit of time.

"Oh, uh, I grabbed your coat yesterday when I went out to buy that stuff. It didn't feel right walking through condomland in the clothes I wear to school, y'know?"

I chuckled. Ja, his winter coat had the school's emblem embroidered onto the lapel. That might have been an awkward moment at the cash register. "Did I ruin the surprise?" I asked.

"No," he answered simply and I had no idea if he was referring to the condoms or the prom tickets. He reached out and traced the locks of my dislodged bangs, saying only, "So. Prom?"

There was nothing in his expression to guide my response. Hilde had implied that he disliked the notion, but there was no hint of that now. He appeared genuinely ambivalent and I realized that I could probably ask Duo to take me to his school's prom. He would probably say yes; he'd certainly never denied me anything outright. But the trouble was that I wasn't sure I _did _want to go. Yes, I wanted to see Duo dance. I was positive that he'd swaai like a dream. But I wasn't all that keen on being in the company of his no doubt _many_ admirers. Duo was mine and I didn't feel like sharing.

I sighed again. When in doubt: the truth.

I rocked my head toward him and met his patient yet amused gaze. "It would be more accurate to say that there's something Hilde and Dorothy would like me to ask you on their behalf."

He snorted softly. "Ah. It's all coming together now." The squint of his eyes and their far-off focus told me he was browsing through his memories and likely coming up with the not-arse-pinching incident on Tuesday. And then he shocked me into stone-stillness by asking with perfect neutrality, "Do you wanna go?"

"You don't," I replied.

"That wasn't an answer."

"I don't have one." I was too conflicted on the matter to decide and I had too little objective information on the event to make a value judgment on it.

"OK," he said and the subject was closed.

I had no idea if I'd just agreed to go or not. It unsettled me for all of three seconds before I reminded myself that this was Duo's territory; if he wanted me to go with him, he'd handle all the arrangements, so I had nothing to worry about, regardless.

"So, whaddaya wanna do tonight?" Duo asked suddenly.

I snorted. "Is that one of those trick questions?"

His eyes sparkled with mirth. "What do you think I'm trying to trick you into?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. No matter what I said in response, I was reasonably certain I'd be backing myself into a corner.

He let out a breathy chuckle and gave in. "OK, how about I promise _not _to end our evening with a tux fitting?"

"Oh, that's comforting," I replied drolly.

"And… the condoms stay in their retail packaging."

I nodded. I had no problem with waiting. Truthfully, I was pretty sure I'd embarrass myself even worse than I had yesterday morning when I'd fallen out of the bloody bed.

"That still leaves a lot of territory to, ah, cover," he murmured, studying my expression from where he was still leaning against the sofa cushion, chin in hand.

"Well," I said, "there's that macaroni and cheese in the freezer."

"That's not a very romantic dinner," he observed, not looking at all against the idea, "and I've been told that today – being Valentine's Day and all – is the day for pink hearts and purple prose and chocolate bonbons and shit like that."

I huffed out a laugh. "Do I look like I need chocolate bonbons to make my life complete?"

"Not really," he admitted, sitting up on his knees and looming over me. I tilted my head back and waited for him to make his move. "But you could be a closet chocoholic."

"Cupboard," I corrected him and then impatiently reached up to hook my hand around the back of his neck, dragging him down for a kiss. As his lips brushed mine, I mumbled, "And it depends what the chocolate is covering." My fingertips roved over his jawline.

He kissed me briefly, pressing our lips together gently. "Wow," he remarked, "you'd deal with all those empty calories just to…?"

I finished the thought he'd left hanging. "Just to get to the Duo underneath? Ja. I'm prepared to make sacrifices."

He chuckled. "That's some sacrifice."

"A pittance," I argued back, tilting my chin up and kissing him again, prolonging the contact. I would die for him, kill for him, lie for him…

When he pulled back, he gave me a speculative look. "Hey. Let's just skip the sacrifices and get on with being awesome."

So that's what we did. Dinner ended up being very, very late, but I didn't mind.

"You're distracted again," Sally accused me the next afternoon as we were going over my schoolwork. We were due to start working on those standard five-paragraph essays that Duo had mentioned awhile back and I knew I needed to concentrate, but something was stopping me. And it wasn't that I thought Duo was going to give himself a paper cut or some such as he prepared for his weekly video conference at the office downtown tomorrow afternoon.

"It's nothing," I insisted. It wasn't, but I didn't really want to discuss it with her.

"Hm," she replied, clearly not believing me. "Let's take a break."

I braced myself for the topic of the day. They were usually personal. During our first meeting, she'd laughingly asked where I'd learned penmanship.

"From a bunch of mercs," I'd answered. She'd laughed and then sobered when she'd realized I was being serious. In short order, she'd begun rattling off one question after another: How long had I been with them? (Since I could remember.) What kind of work had I done? (Contracted protection of private property, mostly.) Had I left Africa to find different work? (That hadn't been my main motivation, but I'd let her think otherwise.) And so on. _That _had been a bloody _long_ five-minute break.

Today, she asked, "How did you meet Duo… if you don't mind me asking?"

That seemed safe enough. I described the dig site and tree under which I'd been cleaning my dismantled rifle, the weight that had fallen on me from above, my reflex and then my surprise at finding Duo lounging up there on the branch, previously undetected by me, a trained mercenary. "Gives the word 'disarming' a whole new meaning," I mumbled with a hesitant smile.

Sally laughed softly. "Although I've never seen him go all-out, I've always imagined Duo would be very charismatic and charming."

Her assumption that he had _gone all-out _for my sake made me feel suddenly too-warm and a bit embarrassed. I bullied through the moment. "Charismatic, ja," I agreed.

"But not charming?"

I shook my head. "Charming people are usually after something." And I'd seen my share of that breed from a distance. More often than I cared to acknowledge, the troupe had ended up guarding some land baron's holdings. Those powerful men had all been charming… until they'd stubbed their toe on a metaphorical stone in their path. Then they'd gotten nasty. Duo wasn't like that at all. He was genuine.

"Duo just…" I shrugged. "He just wanted to know me."

Sally tilted her head to the side. "You're worth knowing, Trowa."

"No one bothered before him. Civilians don't trust people like me." My gaze shifted in the direction of the kitchen where I could occasionally hear Miles working on dinner. He was always there, out of sight, whenever I came over for a lesson.

Not that I blamed him. I would have done the same if Duo were the one welcoming a stranger into our home. And I _did _act that way whenever we went out: although Duo never mentioned him, _I _never forgot that Khushrenada was out there somewhere, biding his time.

"Trowa," Sally said, lowering her voice. The confidential tone drew my undivided attention, "I've been meaning to suggest… Well, it's clear how deeply you care about Duo, and I'm not making a statement about his preferences, but…" She sighed and gathered herself before saying plainly, "He might interpret your interest sexually."

I stared at her, tense.

My silence must have answered the implied question sufficiently because she nodded once, satisfied with my nonverbal confirmation. "Here," she said, pulling a folded sheet of copy paper from the folder of notes she'd brought to the table with her. "There's a lot of misinformation out there, but those websites—" Her gaze fell to the paper I'd accepted. "—are reliable."

I assumed she was referring to information about sex. She didn't ask me if I had any experience, for which I was thankful. Nor did she lecture me. In fact, when she smiled, it was as if the subject had never come up at all.

"I'm getting a refill," she said, standing. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"Please," I mumbled and tucked the sheet of paper away in my pocket while she went to fetch the pot.

I came home to find Duo in his room. Nothing was broken. Nothing was damaged. He was fine. The knot that had been giving me rope burn from inside the center of my chest fell apart and my relief was dizzying in its intensity. Ever since that one morning before school – ever since that sudden, heart-stoppingly terrifying crash of shattering glass – I'd feared something else would happen. Something worse. Something that damaged more than just a coffee cup.

Whenever I was away from him, I worried if he'd find himself in the grip of another unpredictable rage. And I wondered where that rage would take him. Dear God, the look on his face when I'd skidded into the kitchen that morning, heart pounding and body braced for a fight… I'd never seen such fury in him before. I'd never felt it pour forth from _anyone _like it had from him, and given my past experiences, that was quite the statement. Duo had given me a skirk all right. And while I could be relatively confident that he'd be fine at school or at company headquarters where he was surrounded by people, I wasn't so sure about leaving him alone.

Of course, I knew I couldn't keep an eye on him every minute of the day, even outside of school and work. Still, trusting him while knowing he might experience one of those intermittent moments of instability was not an easy task.

Today, I needn't have worried: all was well. He'd changed out of his uniform and put on baggy denims and an old T-shirt. He was sprawled out on his belly on the bed, his hands fisted in his tatty braid as he glared at a page crammed from top-to-bottom and side-to-side with columns of numbers.

"All right?" I asked.

"No," he told me. "My head's gonna explode if I look at one more balance sheet."

I wordlessly picked up his school bag and held it out to him. "Pick another poison," I advised.

Grinning, he reached in and blindly selected a textbook. It was calculus.

"Fuck," he grumped, slamming the thing down onto the mattress. "God hates me."

I smiled at him. "Say the word, bokkie, and I'll donner him black and blue."

Duo grinned back. "And let you have all the fun?" he playfully objected before asking, "How'd it go with Sally?"

"Fine," I said more out of reflex than any desire to be evasive. Only after the word left my mouth did I realize I probably could – even _ought to_ – share some things from the lesson with him. But first— "Can I borrow your computer?"

"Sure. Anytime. You gonna email the guys?"

"Ja."

"Make sure you tell them how awesome I am."

"Done."

I took care of my email chores first while Duo cursed and scribbled and erased madly at his calculus homework, scattering eraser boogeys amongst the rumpled and unmade covers of the bed in the process. When I was done with my weekly update email and I'd sent the spam mail to the electronic rubbish bin, I logged out of my email provider and pulled the sheet of copy paper from my pocket to look up the sites that Sally had recommended.

Fifteen minutes later, I was a little unsettled by how closely Duo and I probably come to hurting each other. He and I had done dangerous things before: I'd taught him how to shoot a rifle and wield a knife in a fight. And, just yesterday, we'd been grappling with only marginal restraint on the mat in the gym, but this was something different. I was inexplicably terrified by all that could go wrong.

Of course, Duo might know more about sex than he'd let on. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe not. In any case, that was not a risk I wanted to take; I wanted our first time to be worth remembering. I did not want it to be awkward, embarrassing, or – God forbid – painful.

I swallowed thickly, thinking of all the information that I'd been surprised to learn: some lubricants would damage the integrity of the condom; stretching one's partner was paramount in avoiding tearing and bleeding; despite careful preparation, there was a certain degree of pain and soreness which could be expected, especially the first time…

This particular part of the body wasn't meant to be used roughly and given how thin my control around Duo was generally, I very well might have hurt him. Or he me. And I couldn't do that to him. I doubted he'd forgiven himself for whatever failures he thought he was to blame with regards to his father's death. I couldn't add _this_ to it. The both of us needed a far better command of ourselves before we could attempt this sort of thing.

But there was something else beneath that reason that I couldn't pin down. Not that I needed further justification for putting things off – Duo's safety was more than sufficient – but a ghost of an idea was lurking at the back of my mind, warning me away from this. Oddly enough, I thought of Khushrenada's presence on the fringes of our life.

With a sigh, I shook my head. I sat back and glanced at the paper Sally had given me and was suddenly determined to buy her a thank-you gift. Due to the living allowance that Maxwell Limited provided me, I could certainly afford something nice and, for her intervention, I was truly appreciative.

"Whatcha reading up on?" Duo asked without looking up from his textbook.

The sound of his voice brought me back from the dark places my thoughts had gone to. I let out a breath and felt the tension in my chest ease. It was on the tip of my tongue to say "Nothing," but this wasn't nothing. This was important. But it wasn't a topic I thought we could just come out and discuss. Not even through text messages. So, how to get Duo to read what I had read? That would be the first step.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I replied: "Sex."

His sock-covered feet, which he'd been kicking in the air, stopped moving. "Really?" He looked up at me, his gaze speculative and slightly hungry.

"Ja," I told him, wondering what exactly he was hungry _for. _ He'd bought condoms that he was in no particular hurry to use. Had he bought them because he'd thought that was what I wanted? Or had he changed his mind about heading in that direction? Perhaps I really had given him a skrik in the shower the other day when I'd touched him there. Well, there was only one way to sort it out. Unfortunately, my cell phone's battery was in need of charging, so I'd have to see to that.

I left the computer screen as it was with the various browser tabs open to each website. I trusted Duo's natural curiosity to convince him to investigate and I trusted that he cared deeply enough for me to read through the information there. After that, we'd message each other. Perhaps by then I'd be able to put my formless anxiety into words.

With yet another subtle manipulation set, I moved toward the bed. Before Duo could roll onto his back, abandon his homework attempt, and pull me down to join him, I placed a hand between his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple. It wasn't that I didn't want him; it was that my balance had been rocked by what I'd just learned and I needed a little space to reestablish my footing. He probably would, too, once he'd read it.

He sighed, accepting the distance I was insisting on. I ran a hand down his plaited hair in a silent thank-you before I straightened up, located his phone's charger cable, and connected mine to it.

I could see that he was disappointed, but he changed the subject readily enough and without any genuine peevishness. "So, I guess you haven't been down to the music room since Wednesday?"

"No," I answered, feeling inexplicably guilty for not taking advantage of the gift he'd given me. But, considering its cost, how could I? "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. I could tell he was trying to be nonchalant, but he was coiled with tension. "No reason."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you're not telling me."

He laughed. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific unless you wanna hear me talk for a long, long, long, long, _long _time."

He had a point. "Did you do something to the piano?"

He looked up at me through his brows, smirking. "If you're so worried about it, why don't you go check?"

I huffed out a sigh. I shouldn't care. I couldn't afford to care.

"You're only gonna wonder until you do," he pointed out with far too much relish.

Bugger. "Right." So that's what I did.

I didn't know what I'd expected to find – the piano painted pink or perhaps a life-sized cardboard cutout of Duo wearing one of those doff powdered wigs or something equally mischievous – but that certainly wasn't what I discovered. I blinked at the items resting on the padded seat of the piano bench. I sat down and picked up the first book on the stack. It was a composition notebook with page after page of blank, quintople bars just waiting for notes to be drawn on. Beneath that was a spiral-bound compilation of Beethoven's masterpieces for piano, and then the one under that was Mozart, and the third was none other than Chopin.

Surely, Duo's mother had owned some or all of these works. Surely, if I looked for them, I'd find them stored in the piano bench or on one of the bookshelves. So why would he—? And _when _had he—?

I startled when Duo waved a pack of new, HB graphite pencils under my nose. "These might come in handy," he said quietly, "for when you wanna start writing in your own variations and stuff."

"My own…?"

"Yeah," he replied, smiling as he slid onto the bench opposite me, keeping the stack of music books between us. "Like Wednesday night. You were ad libbing."

Now that he mentioned it, I had a vague recollection of fiddling with several passages in _Für Elise, _adjusting the timing or trying out different chords. "Oh," I said.

"I thought you'd like to start with unmarked copies," he added when the silence continued to stretch out.

I still couldn't think of anything to say.

He smiled and teased gently, "I don't have to tell you what the composition book is for, do I?"

I smiled. "No. No, I think I've got that."

"So, uh, Happy belated Valentine's Day," he said.

"I didn't get you anything," I mumbled.

He reached out and threaded his fingers into my short hair. "You're here," he answered. "That's like Christmas every damn day."

I was speechless.

When Duo shifted as if he meant to get up and leave, I asked, "When did you do this?" His gaze followed my gesture toward the music scores.

"Well, condomland wasn't my only stop on Wednesday night," he answered, smirking, "and I put 'em here yesterday morning while you were futzing with the coffeemaker." He set the box of pencils down on the ledge above the keys and held up a finger in a mute gesture for me to hold whatever thought I was having. "And since I know shit about music stuff," he continued, reaching for the back pocket of the tatty denims he was wearing, "I gotcha this, too."

I held out my hand. He placed a Pocket Music Dictionary in it.

"So now you can look up what the hell a 'coda' is without wasting your cell phone battery on another consultation with Wikipedia."

I snorted and choked, my humor and heart clashing like a salty tide upon immoveable rocks. "You didn't have to—" I began. My voice dried up and blew away when he reached out and cupped my face in his hands.

"Hey. I'd give you anything," he told me very seriously. "It's my own personal mission to figure out what you want before you have to ask."

Perhaps that was why I was so surprised, so speechless: he'd acted before I'd even sussed out my own desires. If only I were so adept at figuring out his.

"Someone's coming by to tune the piano Monday after school," he announced suddenly.

My protest was automatic. "But it sounds fine."

He nodded. "Yeah, but I wanna give you the best… my best."

"I don't need—"

"I do," he interjected. "I don't wanna go back to being a clueless dumbass, Trowa."

"You were not a clueless dumbass," I argued, reaching for his chin and urging him closer.

"Hm," he replied, his gaze snagging on my lips as I leaned in, "I'm sensing another language barrier here…"

But there were no _physical_ barriers between us and, as far as I was concerned, the others would work themselves out. I kissed him softly and chastely even as I moved off of the bench and nudged the books off to the side. I planted a knee on either side of his hips and pushed him back until he was leaning against the piano, his braid snaking over the lacquered finish from the upper register keys all the way down to the lowest.

His hands found their way under my sweater and stroked over my mangled and scarred back. No one had ever voluntarily touched me there, skin-on-skin. Once the new guys in the troupe had noticed what I hid under my shirt, they'd been careful not to jostle me or slap my back, acting as if the wounds were still fresh. But Duo was drawn to my scars and I was doubly sensitive to his fascination with them.

I'd been prepared to wear a shirt at all times. I would have done so willingly if he'd only pretend that the scars weren't there: I'd been so sure that revealing them would make him hesitate, would make him see how truly different he and I were. I'd expected him to realize that I was some other breed of man for having lived in a jungle so different from his. Someone ill-used and mutilated. Someone less approachable, less honorable. Someone… less.

But Duo hadn't seen me in that light at all. He – for lack of a better word – _worshiped_ me. Just as I was.

"Ah, God. Trowa," he sighed against my lips, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal a gaze gone dark and soft with desire.

I slid backwards off of the bench, gaining my feet slowly and surely, my need and love for him steadying me. "Come lie down with me," I urged on a whisper and gently grasped his arms behind his elbows, ready to pull him to his feet the moment he acquiesced.

"Don't you wanna make some music?" he asked in a rough whisper, nodding toward the books.

Tugging on his arms and keeping our gazes locked, I replied, "We are."

He stood. I clasped his hands and led him backwards down the hall to his room and our bed. The piano and masterpieces would wait. Duo was the music of my heart and soul. What symphony could possibly outstrip the one we created between us with every touch?

None.

Being with Duo was the greatest accomplishment of my life. Somehow, someday, I'd find the words to tell him that. Until then…

He gasped out my name as I uncovered warm, bare skin with my scarred hands, explored him with my mouth, revered him with my gaze. I moved against him as he clutched at me, wrapped himself around me, gave himself to me. Duo was more than just generous: he was, himself, a gift. I wasn't sure that I deserved him, but he was mine.

I'd never had so much before. An iPod filled with classics and a roll of bills hidden away in my rucksack had been the sum total of my gains as a mercenary. The pendant I never took off and the cell phone which had been my tether to him for so long: those things I had feared losing but only because their loss would weaken my connection to him. Now that I had _him_… I'd never been so blissfully happy, or so utterly terrified.

"'S all right." Duo's voice soothed me and I realized I was holding him too tightly as we dossed in the aftermath.

"Sorry," I said, rubbing his bare arms apologetically.

He rolled his head back and grinned at me. "Now who's worrying too much?"

I smiled for him. "Ja. If you'd known I required this much maintenance—"

He poked me in the ribs. I twitched helplessly in the opposite direction. "Huh? What was that? Were you sayin' something?" he teased.

"Goof."

"Yup."

When we finally found our way back into our clothes and moved out into the hallway, Duo gently shoved me in the direction of the music room. "Go play. I'll come get ya when dinner's ready."

I didn't want to resist his generosity, but perhaps there was a way to ensure that I wouldn't be completely – and uselessly – absorbed in the music. "Bring your homework," I requested softly, reaching for his arm. "Sit with me."

"In the music room?"

I nodded and hesitantly explained, "I lost track of time before…"

"And I came and got you."

I winced, unsure of how to describe the terror of being so totally consumed by something.

"Ah," he said suddenly. "Freaked you out a little, huh?"

"Ja," I readily admitted, letting out the breath I'd been biting back.

"OK."

That easily, he was accommodating me.

"I'll put the mac an' cheese in the oven and come keep you from disappearing into La La Land, _if…!"_ He paused there, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"If?" I echoed.

He stipulated, "If you promise to wear that necktie I picked out tomorrow."

I smiled. I had no idea why he seemed so partial to the bloody thing. "You'll have to tie it for me."

"Deal," he agreed, a mysterious smile curving his lips.

Shaking my head in utter incomprehension, I traced his lower lip and his cloth-covered collarbone before trailing my fingertips down one of his muscled arms. It was as close to a thank-you as he'd probably let me come.

I took my time acquainting myself with the table of contents in my new music books. A few minutes later, Duo strolled across the threshold with his book bag and poured himself onto the rug by the bookcase to study. With him in my line of sight, I had no reason to worry whether or not he needed me. Of course, I suspected that the truth of the matter was that I needed him. Especially for this.

I stretched my fingers over the keys and, remembering his soft challenge from the day before yesterday – _"Impress me" _– I set out to do just that. This time, when I began to play _Für Elise,_ it flowed forth so easily, as if in the intervening days my subconscious had soaked it up. There was no logical reason for my hands to recall the order of the keys so well. Muscle memory was supposed to take hours upon hours of practice.

I didn't know what this strange ability of mine was, to be honest, but though it still unsettled me, I couldn't help but love it. I didn't become lost in it as I had the first night, thanks to Duo's presence at the edge of my vision. The music led me from one note to another, twisting and molding the song this way and that, showing me secrets and hidden paths.

Some indeterminate time later, I heard someone sigh and then felt a warm shoulder lean against mine. "Damn it. I shoulda gotten you a digital music recorder instead."

I blinked and paused, glancing at Duo. He'd slid onto the bench beside me and was smiling wryly at the unopened pack of graphite pencils and the unmarked music score on the piano's easel.

I grinned sheepishly. "Uh, whoops?"

"'S OK," he reassured me. "Maybe you'll warm up to it." He tugged on the waistband of my sleep pants. "C'mon and eat, Maestro Barton."

I never did manage to make a single mark on the music scores Duo gave me. He presented me with a digital recorder the next day after we stopped by an electronics store on the way home from the office. And then he ended up being the one to make sure it was turned on whenever I sat down at the piano. Just crossing the threshold of the music room pushed every thought to the periphery of my mind, including recording my progress for posterity. Duo didn't seem to mind taking over that little duty.

"I'm gonna produce a record with these," he informed me when I asked what he was planning to do with the however many gigabytes of music files he was going to end up collecting from me before the week was out.

"And what do I get out of it?"

"Fame, wealth, fangirls—"

"Not good enough," I told him, looping my arms around his waist and pulling him down onto my lap on the piano bench.

"Hm. I'm gonna need a couple of minutes to think up more incentives."

In the meantime, I put his fingers on the keys and, as he fiddled his way through a C major scale, I embellished it with a melody and harmony, caging him between my arms as we played. He giggled like a little kid and then he sighed like one of those aforementioned fangirls when we came to a definitive end.

As I leaned my cheek against his arm, he asked, "Say I offered you the eternal devotion of any fanboy of your choice?"

"Finally a quality offer," I murmured in acceptance.

He offered me more than I could ever catalog.

After yet another Saturday morning spent at the office – Duo in a conference with Ruthford and the head of the London office and me in yet another grueling and unpleasant orientation session with Septum – he sat me down on the edge of the bed, pulled out his cell phone, and texted me.

/I read through those websites you left open on my computer last week. You wanna talk?/

I answered. /Ja./

Borrowing warmth from each other, we sat side-by-side – both of us still wearing our suits – and texted back and forth. The discussion would have been awkward if we'd had to make eye contact or if we'd had to say our thoughts aloud. It would have been nerve-wracking if we'd been in separate rooms. Having him here next to me, I felt safe, safe enough to tell him exactly what I was thinking.

/The risk of injury – if one of us got hurt – you might forgive me, but I wouldn't forgive myself./

/I know. Me, too. I've read up on it. It's supposed to be really good. But the first time… that's kinda up for grabs. A lot of writers make it sound great, but that's just fiction. Fantasy./

/We'd have to be very careful./

/I don't know if I can be./

/As well./

/Are you OK with what we do now?/

/Yes. I don't give rocks about the rest of it. I just want to touch you./

"Me, too," Duo breathed, tossing his phone aside and climbing into my lap for a kiss. "Mine," he insisted between one kiss and the next.

"Yours," I immediately agreed, falling back on the bed and hauling him down with me, wrinkling our suits. I hadn't noticed how weighted and soured with worry the air between us had been until we'd cleared it. The tension that had clung to us both evaporated and God it was so freeing to have him without worrying about what he wanted and what he thought I wanted. I only wanted him.

We tore through buttons and shoved at waistbands until our skin met, bare and hot. This time was rushed, but not furtive. It was like running through the wind, like diving off of a sheer cliff and into the frothing sea.

And when the passion released us and we were panting into each other's shoulders, I realized that the top buttons of our dress shirts were still done up and we were both still wearing our neckties. I tugged playfully on Duo's and he sat up to caress mine.

"What makes you like it so bloody much?" I teased, my voice still a bit thin.

"It brings out your eyes," he told me, grinning.

Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that when I hid my emotions from the world in general, I was also hiding them from Duo. He could see my face clearly now, though, and I let him. As I looked up at him, I thought about how much I admired him, trusted him, loved him.

He inhaled sharply. "I love the way you look at me."

When his fingertips trailed over my cheeks, my lashes fluttered briefly, but I didn't let them stay closed for long.

"So green," he murmured, studying the color of my irises. I was contemplating the varying shades of blue in his eyes when he suddenly whispered, "You're perfect."

My first inclination should have been denial, but how could I refute him when the adoration in his gaze made me feel so whole, so treasured? Maybe I could be perfect for him. Maybe I already was: scars, jealousy, paranoia, and all.

The month of March opened uneventfully. St. Patrick's Day wouldn't have caused me so much as a speed bump midmonth if not for Duo's insistence that I wear a green turtleneck on that day, blabbering at me in a completely fake and utterly doff Irish accent as I pulled it on. "'Twoul' be a pity if'n yer pinched f'r a lack o' green. 'Tis the luck o' the Irish yer wearin' nauw."

"I liked Talk Like a Pirate Day better," I informed him, twitching my mussed hair back into place. "And you're not wearing that T-shirt outside." I didn't give rocks that it was a Sunday and his black leather jacket was probably going to be covering it up while we reconnoitered the mall.

"What?" he objected, smoothing his palm over the "Kiss Me – I'm Irish" message emblazoned across his chest.

I reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head. "I'll donner anyone who takes you up on the offer," I growled, giving the ball of fabric a threatening shake before tossing it in the general direction of the nearest pile of clean laundry.

"Maybe I've only got one recipient in mind."

He hardly needed a T-shirt slogan to get me to kiss him. Although, with an invitation like that constantly staring me in the face, I'd be hard-pressed to restrain myself. Even though we didn't do the things in public that other couples our age did – we didn't hold hands, kiss, gesture each other through doorways, or embrace – I was constantly aware of him. Duo had made a habit of standing just an inch too close to me, bumping our elbows "accidentally", slinging his arm casually over my shoulders whenever he was moved to persuade me to do something doff, like take a hap of that bloody monstrosity called "Hawaiian Pizza", and slouching just slightly in my direction whenever he leaned his hip against a sales counter. No, he didn't kiss me in public. We didn't share long, romantic looks. I didn't hold his hand. But he still chose me every moment of every day.

"The recipient had better be me," I warned him, running my palms over his bared skin and burrowing my face against his warm, fragrant neck.

"You're hot when you're jealous," he murmured. His hands slid into the back pockets of my denims.

"Goof," I told him, smiling.

I smiled a lot these days. The captain and the guys often commented on it thanks to the photos I emailed them, telling me that American life was good for me, but we all knew it was Duo. My country of residence had nothing to do with it.

When our schedules permitted, Duo and I took advantage of the intermittent hiccups in the dull, wet, cold weather to do some sightseeing. Our digital scrapbook of photos now held a respectable collection of images featuring the two of us in various settings: the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Coney Island. We were smiling in each as we scrunched together into the narrow frame that our cellphone cameras were capable of while either Duo or I held the phone at arm's length and took the photo. In each picture, my smile was genuine – how could it not be? – but I wasn't smiling now.

I hunched over my cellphone as I read through the captain's most recent email. I'd sent him a few photos from the weekend before when Duo and I had trekked through Central Park. Like all the other places, the sensation of being watched had followed me throughout the day. And, like all the other places, I'd been determined not to let it erode my happiness. Besides, even if I'd stopped and scanned the area every other minute, it wouldn't have done any good. Alerting our shadows to the fact that I'd noticed them would only make them go to greater lengths to conceal their presence from me in the future and I preferred having them right where I could see them.

The captain had noticed them, too: _Still seeing a lot of familiar faces in your photos, Trowa. You're making friends. Take care._

It was always a different face in the crowd, tailing us. Thus far, their only assignment seemed to be observation, but there was no telling how long that would last.

I stared at the concluding line of the brief email: _Give our best to your china._

"Our best" was troupe code for "backup." The captain was offering and I very badly wanted to take him up on it. Even if my meager savings and recently issued credit card _could _have brought the captain and maybe Bryce and Martins over here, there wasn't much they could do. And, bugger all, there wasn't much that _I _could do. Without a plan of attack, it seemed foolish to call for backup.

Arms slid over my shoulders from behind and I covered my surprise with a deeply drawn breath.

"We missed the skating rink at Rockefeller Center this year," Duo remarked, reading the email over my shoulder. I didn't change the screen or try to distract him from the message or the photos. I did wonder, though, if he'd pick up on the subtext, if he was ready to face the truth.

He sighed. "I'm sorry I never met your troupe. They all seem like good guys."

"They are," I agreed, reaching up and grasping his wrist, holding him near for a moment longer when he probably would have pulled away.

He sighed, leaned his head against mine, and apologized yet again. "I'm sorry we're not gonna be seeing them."

"It's fine." Although I couldn't say I was eager about flying back to London to endure a solid week of meetings and more orientation while trying to watch out for Duo in unfamiliar territory, I knew we had to go. Duo was needed at the London office and this was his chance to take the trip without interfering with school. Today had been the last day before a long holiday called "spring break" in which yet another holiday – Easter – had been tucked. "We'll spend Sunday at the house," he'd promised when he'd first mentioned the necessity of the trip.

I wondered if he was thinking about visiting his father's grave.

"You know how to ice skate?" he suddenly asked me, dragging Rockefeller Center back into the here and now.

I rolled my eyes, smirking. Where did he think I would have learned how to do something like that? Still, it was nice that he didn't take it for granted that I was the sum total of my previous employment experience. "No."

"Huh. We'll hit it next year," he promised. "You finished packing yet?"

I gave him a look. "I'm a merc."

"Uh-huh…" he pondered, squinting at me. "So you've been ready to leave since, like, thirty minutes after I mentioned it, but the real question is— Did you pack your backpack or your roller bag?"

I felt my cheeks warm. I'd gotten nearly done packing my rucksack, which I'd chosen out of pure habit, before I'd remembered the roller bag. Clearing my throat, I said, "The roller bag. It's across the hall in my room."

"Ah, but you packed the other one first, huh?" he needled, not the least bit fooled by my deliberate omission.

I had no pride when it came to him, so there was no point in lying. "Ja."

His arms tightened around my shoulders. "I get that you were raised a merc," he breathed, "but that's not all you are. You get that, right?"

"Ja. Ja, I get it."

It was hard to remember it at crowded, public places like international airports. Intimidating people with my silent stare just to keep them from jostling Duo was something of a habit. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice. Or, if he did, he didn't make an issue of it. But then, I was beginning to suspect that Duo would indulge me even when he shouldn't.

Our flight arrived on Saturday evening. We showered at Heathrow and drove out to the house that night. It was nearly midnight by the time we pulled up to the front door, but Howard answered the summons just as quickly as he had back in December.

"You bring your looker, kid?"

Duo shifted aside, making room for me so I could speak into the comm. device beside the door. I cleared my throat, leaned forward, and said, "Good evening, Howard."

"Trowa! You made it back." He sounded genuinely pleased by my tenacity.

"Wild rhinoceroses couldn't have kept me away."

Duo laughed and Howard, having finally located and repaired the short in the wiring at some point over the last three months, buzzed us through from the cottage.

On Sunday, I woke to the familiar sensation of damp cloth sticking to my shoulder and a numb arm. Duo had used me for a pillow again and his cheek bone was pressing on a nerve cluster at the joint. I hissed as I clenched and unclenched my fingers, working the circulation back into them.

"Hm?" Duo murmured, still mostly asleep.

I nudged him until he rolled over and I could retrieve my arm. I sat up gingerly and managed a few stretches before the pins and needles made my eyes water. _Eish!_ That stung.

"Hum?" he mumbled, rolling onto his back and blinking up at me blearily.

"Nothing," I told him.

He yawned and made a concentrated effort to focus on me. "Damn. I soaked your shirt again. This is getting embarrassing."

"So long as you don't get dehydrated, it's not an issue."

What was more noteworthy than his tendency to drool on me was the fact that he'd followed me into the guest room without even glancing in the direction of his old bedroom the night before. That seemed odd to me, although, having never had a room of my own, I wasn't really sure how to explain the impression even to myself. So it was just one more idiosyncrasy to be filed away for later.

Duo rolled over and buried his face in my pillow. "Murf," he grunted and I decided I might as well take a shower. When I got out no more than fifteen minutes later, the bedroom was empty and Duo's suitcase appeared to have been the unlucky recipient of a controlled explosion. What had he been in such a hurry to get dressed for?

I headed down the hall to his bedroom. "Duo?" I called at the door. There was no answer, so I pushed it open. The room was unchanged from the last time I'd see it. Duo was nowhere in sight. Thinking that the kitchen was the next likely place that would have drawn him, I went down to the ground floor, but he wasn't there, either. Right, so, maybe he'd gone to beg some coffee from Howard? I checked the panel beside the backdoor, but the security system was still armed, so that meant he was still in the house somewhere.

At this point, I would have called his cell phone, but I remembered seeing it sitting abandoned on the guest room dresser as I'd left to look for him. Bugger. There was nothing for it: I'd have to reconnoiter the premises. Well, I suppose it was long overdue in any case.

The house was every bit as big on the inside as it looked on the outside. Or perhaps it was just the fact that I was on a reconnaissance mission that made the hallways seem so befokken long and the closed doors so bloody numerous. I discovered an assortment of parlors, studies, guest bedrooms with attached baths, what looked like a ballroom, a music room, and a library. I was halfway through the third floor when I finally opened the correct door.

"Duo?"

He startled, looking up from a pile of papers on a slightly dusty oak desk. "Hey, Tro." Glancing at the clock in the room, he winced. "Shit. I meant to just be a couple of minutes."

"Hm." I believed him, but it was fun making him look contrite. I wandered over to him as he began shuffling papers together. The matching cabinet beside the desk was open and inside I could see a personal safe.

"Whose room is this?" I asked quietly. But then, as Duo turned to put the files and documents away on a bare shelf in the safe, I spotted a familiar-looking iPod on the desktop.

When he told me, "My mom's office," I wasn't surprised.

"This is the iPod we found in Laos," I added, keeping my hands to myself.

Duo nodded. "Yeah. I rediscovered it when I was packing the other day. It needs a new battery."

I frowned. "You could play the songs on the computer."

"Oh, well, I did that."

"And?" I prompted, not liking how guarded he was being with me. Duo never made me ask. Never.

"And nothing. The songs are… y'know, songs." He shrugged.

I did not like that shrug or the caution I could see in his expression.

He made an effort to distract me. "There was a message written inside the cover over the battery compartment thing." He held the bit of plastic up and I glimpsed a series of Egyptian characters printed neatly with black marker, perhaps the same black marker that had been used to scrawl Duo's name in hieroglyphs on the temple wall. "It's the combination to her safe," Duo explained.

I watched as he reassembled the iPod and tossed it into the safe along with the papers before shutting the door.

The gesture seemed oddly… final. I was instantly suspicious. "Are you all right?" I heard myself ask. The question was ridiculous, but I had no idea how to ask the question that I really wanted him to answer.

He sighed. I leaned on the edge of the desk as he slumped over the top of it, burying his hands in his slept-in braid. "I can't keep secrets from you," he whispered in defeat.

"I don't want you to," I told him quietly. I reached for his nearest hand, grasped his wrist, and pulled his fingers from his hair. I interlaced our fingers, giving him something else to hang onto. "Tell me."

Still speaking to the ink blotter, he said, "My dad had a private forensics lab investigate the airplane crash that killed my mom and Solo. There were explosives involved."

So it had not been an accident. Bugger and fuck. I wrapped my free hand around our joined fingers.

Before I could think of anything to say, Duo hissed, "Just what the fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? How does knowing that make anything _better?"_

I couldn't answer that question. Instead, I asked, "You found the investigation that your father ordered… inside your mother's safe?"

"Yeah."

"Why wouldn't your father have kept it in his own office?"

Duo snorted. I thought I heard the thickness of tears somewhere deep in the guttural sound. "Probably because he wasn't any readier to deal with it than I am."

"Turn it over to the authorities."

Duo dropped his other hand. I watched his fingers curl into a tight fist. "Can't. If they start asking questions about what she was doing in Kamchatka and how she got there… they're gonna find out about the other stuff."

I didn't really see the harm in that. Perhaps if it was more public, we'd have better luck convincing the police that Khushrenada'd had a motive for ordering the abduction of Duo's father.

"She died for this. She and Solo both died for this."

The tone of Duo's voice startled me. Any other man would have rasped it out, the words weakened by despair. From Duo, they were almost a snarl.

"What will you do, then?" I asked, hoping to distract him from the rage that I could sense swelling inside him.

He let out a long breath. "Nothing. There's nothing to be done."

I didn't believe that. More likely, there was nothing he was willing to do right now. And, considering everything else he was dealing with, perhaps that was for the best.

After a long moment, I suggested, "Breakfast?"

With a second, deeper sigh, he leaned back in his chair and offered me a wan smile. "Yeah."

I stepped back to give him room to stand. We went through half a pack of Oreos, which we'd purchased at the airport convenience store the night before, and several cups of instant coffee. Howard found us in the kitchen at nine o'clock, just as I was contemplating the free-standing butcher's block and my fantasy from last Christmas Eve.

"You boys comin' to church this morning?"

Duo looked at me. I shrugged.

"Sure," he said. "Give us fifteen minutes and we'll walk down with ya."

I'd never been to a church service before.

"Easter Sunday'll be a good introduction, then," Duo replied when I confessed to my lack of experience. As he fiddled with my silk necktie – his favorite – he went over the basics and then wrapped it all up with a somewhat confidence-wrecking "I'll cue you when you gotta do something."

But it wasn't nearly as stressful as I'd feared it would be. In fact, the ceremony of it was soothing. It also left me feeling like I'd accomplished something just by playing along. I was beginning to see why religion had been called the opiate of the masses. Duo looked more collected now, calmer and more centered. I couldn't bring myself to begrudge him the comfort.

We crashed at Howard's for the afternoon, grazing through sandwiches and crisps as the three of us watched an old black and white movie called "Harvey" which was about a 6-foot-tall, invisible rabbit and his human friend whom everyone thought had gone completely round the bend.

"What was the point of that?" I asked Duo later, as we walked back to the house.

"Uh… the Easter bunny parallel?"

"The what?"

"Oh, man. Don't tell me you never heard about the Easter bunny." But it was clear that I hadn't so Duo took up the challenge of trying to explain it to me.

I repeated dully, "The Easter bunny is a rabbit that leaves behind colored eggs for children to pick up?"

"Uh, sort of—"

"Rabbits are mammals."

"I know that—"

"They don't lay eggs."

"Yeah, but—"

"This makes no sense at all."

"Dammit, just go with me here when I tell you it's _magic, _OK?"

I laughed, and then Duo laughed. By the time we found ourselves in the kitchen, we were both breathless. Seeing Duo with his face flushed and eyes glittering with tears of mirth, that ghost of desire that had haunted me earlier returned with a vengeance.

Backing Duo up against the wooden butcher's block, I nuzzled his ear and whispered, "Indulge me?"

"With what? I don't have bunny ears or a tail."

"Thank God," I rumbled and began placing kisses along his neck, from ear to collar. He tilted his head to give me more freedom and I took it.

"Eep!" he squeaked when I reached down, wrapped my arms around his thighs and hefted him onto the free-standing counter.

He didn't ask what I was up to, though, which moved me to confess, "The last time we were here, I wanted you so bad like this."

Again, he didn't have to ask; my hands were currently pulling his shirt tails out of his trousers. I pushed the garments up until his nipples peeked out at me, just below eye level. I closed the distance between us, glad that I'd calculated the height of the block just right, and feasted on his sensitive skin.

"Ah, Trowa…" he breathed, moaned, demanded.

"I love you," I mouthed against his sternum, the words just loud enough for him and myself to hear. No one else.

He wrapped his legs around my waist and my arms went around his back to hold him steady as I nipped and caressed his bared skin, moving downward slowly, nuzzling the dusting of soft hair at his navel.

"Oh… oh God. Trowa."

His hands scrabbled at my back, sliding over my suit jacket without finding any traction. Still, he knew what was beneath so he knew I was no god. I was only a man, and a scarred one at that.

When I pressed my palm to his crotch, he threw his head back, rocked into my touch, and whined. Oh yes, he was with me. I waited until his chin dropped and his eyes opened before I reached for the fastenings of his trousers. He watched me and I met his gaze as I blindly worked through the barrier between us. I watched him shiver, saw his eyelids droop, studied his slack lips when I guided him past the layers of fabric.

I measured his length and found him gloriously wet. Only then did I drop my gaze from his, just long enough to crouch down between his thighs and begin the slow process of taking him in. When I looked back up, he was still watching me, panting heavily, bracing himself on his arms.

"Jesus. Trowa. Ungh—!"

I groaned in reply. God, it had been weeks since I'd tasted him. Not that I didn't like making love to him face-to-face, but I had missed this. I'd missed feeling him moving inside me, making him bite his lip in a vain attempt to smother his soft screams. I'd missed this moment of trust: he was inside me and I was keeping him safe and treasured.

In a sudden flash, I remembered his lie from earlier. The songs on the iPod were important, but he hadn't said why or how and he was hiding something from me, but here and now he trusted me completely and I felt that abrasion on my heart heal over a bit. Whatever he was keeping from me, he wasn't doing it because he didn't trust me.

"Yes, baby, please," he panted brokenly, swallowing thickly as his head fell back.

I closed my eyes and took him as deep as I could. In the darkness behind my eyelids, he became my entire world. My everything. Duo… I moaned and he called out a warning. He was so deep in my throat, it occurred to me that he might have even felt the vibration. I moaned again.

He came.

I didn't taste him until I felt him soften and then, at last, his savory essence reached my tongue. I was careful to catch him in a handkerchief as I released him, mindful of the fact that we were both still wearing our suits.

"All right?" I asked, straightening up with care as things shifted and readjusted in my pants.

Duo groaned. He'd fallen back onto his elbows and his eyes were still closed. "Oh my God. Trowa…"

I reached forward and slid my hand beneath his shirt to pet his bare, heaving side. By the time he shakily pushed himself upright, I'd calmed down enough to be capable of helping him down from the block. He slumped a bit before I caught him and then I held him up while he finished wiping himself off and reassembling his clothing.

"God," he repeated, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. "I don't think I can manage the stairs. Just stuff me in the dumbwaiter."

I chuckled. "Surely, there's a sofa on the ground floor."

There was. Duo was asleep the moment his head hit the cushions. I sat down beside him, curled around him, and despite my lingering erection, dossed with him. I woke to the feel of Duo's fingers drawing patterns on my thigh.

"I totally failed as your boyfriend earlier," he murmured, watching me wake from only a breath away. "How about I make it up to you?"

I shook my head, intending to tell him that earlier hadn't been about coming for me. It'd been an affirmation of his trust and—

Duo licked my neck delicately before sucking on the skin and, in the process, pressing the edge of his teeth against my jugular. I groaned. Bugger and fuck. If he wanted to make it up to me, it was just easier to let him.

So I did.

Monday morning brought with it a return to reality. We said goodbye to Howard and headed back to the city. Although most of the staff was still on holiday, both Duo and I had full schedules. While Duo got caught up on confidential paperwork at the London headquarters, I was down the hall in a conference call with my guarantor in the States.

I wished fervently that jet lag were reason enough to cancel my weekly meeting with Septum. Unfortunately, it wasn't. If it were, I would have been doing both of us a favor. After months of grudging cooperation, it was clear that the man barely tolerated me. My competence and familiarity with the procedures and material only seemed to irritate him. I was unsure if his hostility was due to me being a mercenary from South Africa or an uneducated lightie he was saddled with when he would have rather offered the position to someone fully qualified. Probably the latter.

Well. This wouldn't last forever. I'd get my bloody GED, finish this fokken orientation, obtain my sidearm permit, and then serve the remaining two and a half years left of my obligation as Duo's personal security consultant. Aside from the occasional report or staff meeting, I doubted I'd see much of the man once I was employed full time.

At least his British counterpart was slightly more tolerable. I met him on Monday afternoon and endeavored not to dwell on his too-polite and exceptionally reserved manner. By the end of the day, he'd warmed up to me some and I wondered how much of his initial aloofness had been due to Septum's sharing of his own opinion regarding my deficiencies. Still, it wasn't worth making a fuss over. Especially when I still had a good deal to learn about British legalities and security protocol before the end of the day Friday.

"This is so Goddamn unfair," Duo complained as he soaked his feet in the water jets provided by the whirlpool bath of our Dorset Square Hotel suite. "It's spring break and we're _working."_

Judging by the strength of his pout, I suspected that only over-done sap would suffice. I sat down next to him, keeping my feet out of the water, and then leaned heavily against his shoulder as I warbled melodramatically, "But at least we're together!"

He snorted, then laughed, and then looked at me with mirth overflowing. "I dare you to say that as our plane goes down in flames over the Atlantic."

I grabbed him around the waist and nipped his jaw. "Yeow!" he complained just as I growled, "You are not allowed to borrow trouble."

"How about buy?"

"No. We've no room for additional trouble. Get rid of your old ones first."

He smirked. "Right. Copy that."

I'd wondered if we would be heading back to the house before our flight on Saturday, but it turned out that we didn't have the time. I couldn't bring myself to regret that; there were too many dark issues lurking on the property: the forensics report, the iPod, and the grave he had yet to acknowledge. We left the London office at eleven p.m. on Friday night and crashed the instant we stepped into our room at the hotel. The following morning was a bit frenzied with final packing and then even more frenzied with highway traffic. Somehow, we managed to get through check-in and security with an hour to spare.

Although I'd never been in one before Lagos, airports were not my favorite places. Perhaps the circumstances in which I'd been introduced to air travel had irreparably damaged my opinion of them in general. It didn't help that there wasn't much to do aside from drink weak, scaldingly hot coffee and wander through the shops. Well, at least I wasn't obsessing over what not to write in a text message to Duo this time.

I ignored a display of inflatable flight pillows in favor of watching Duo flip through the selection of sleep masks.

"Looking for something in particular?" I asked as he pushed aside one package after another to get a glimpse of the next one hanging up on the sales rack.

"Yeah. A neon pink one."

I snorted. "What for?"

"Hilde."

"What?"

The corner of his mouth turned up in a self-depreciating grin. "We have a standing bet that they don't make 'em in hot pink."

"What do you get if you find one?"

He frowned. "Uh, really cool bragging rights?"

I breathed out a chuckle. "Just check Google." Google was befokken brilliant.

"That," he informed me, now glaring into the murk at the back of the retail display, "would be cheating."

Shaking my head in disbelief, I moved down the aisle and found myself contemplating an arrangement of painted glass rings beside a rotating case of wristwatches. Most of the accessories were brightly colored – eye-wateringly so – with the exception of a few dark voids amongst the chaos. I picked one up. It was large enough to fit a man's finger. It was dark, swirling with blue and black with the exception of a few speckles of white, like sparkles of humor.

"Whatcha got there?" Duo asked, sidling up next to me and leaning in that telltale extra inch.

"Hand," I requested, holding out my palm in request.

"Eh?" he said even as he automatically replied.

I slid the ring onto this left index finger. "That fit?"

"Yeah. Why?"

I signaled to the clerk and handed over the cash for the ring. Duo held up his hand and frowned at the accessory as if he'd never seen the like before.

"You don't like rings?" I asked as we wandered over to a vacant bench near our gate.

"Uh, I dunno. Never worn one before." He plopped down facing the wall of windows that looked out over the tarmac and waved his adorned hand in my direction in a vague gesture meant to coax information from me. "What brought this on?"

I smiled. Seeing him wearing something I'd bought for him was strangely satisfying. I was beginning to understand why he preferred that particular necktie of mine. And then there was his fondness for playing with the pendant he'd given me all those years ago and which I never took off.

I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Marry me?"

Duo blinked. His mouth dropped open. "Huh?" He blinked again. Then he seemed to remember where we were; he glanced around before sliding forward on the bench seat and demanding in a raspy tone, "What, _now?"_

I shook my head. "When we're ready."

He let out a breath. "Oh." For a moment, he just looked at me contemplatively. As if he were reevaluating my motives. I'd clearly surprised him and I wasn't sure if I should feel offended by that. I'd never made a secret of my intention to stay with him indefinitely. Wasn't that what marriage was? Partners, indefinitely?

I didn't know what he saw in my expression, but it made him grin crookedly. He slumped back in his seat and drawled, "Well, then ask me again when you're ready."

I was ready now, but there was the issue of my obligation to Maxwell Limited to deal with. I'd rather not be married to the man who was, technically, also my boss. I briefly considered Khushrenada and the interrupted quest for that bloody artifact, but I wasn't inclined to let that greedy, grasping brak get in our way.

"Do me a favor until then," I requested, settling beside him.

"What's that?"

Daringly, I brushed my hand against his and rubbed my thumb over the glass ring on his left index finger. "Keep it on."

Duo, being Duo, challenged me. Just as I'd hoped he would. "Why should I?"

I caught and held his gaze as I murmured, "So you don't forget to say yes."

The look in his eyes would have drawn me toward him for a kiss had we been alone. I could see how badly he wanted it, but this was not the time or the place. Perhaps his bad sense of timing had been passed on to me. Perhaps it was contagious.

Inhaling deeply, he glanced away first. "You might be capable of making me forget my own name at times, but I won't forget that."

The promise itself warmed me as much as his rough whisper did. In response, I reached into the shelter created between our bodies against the back of the bench seat and, unseen by the other passengers moving along the thoroughfare and around the gate waiting area, I collected the end of Duo's braid, fiddling with it in silence. It wasn't just the fact that he allowed me the liberty that created an aura of us-ness – as if our universe was self-contained and only occasionally intersected with some larger dimension – there was also that mysterious little grin of his, as if he'd caught me or he'd let me catch him. I was never sure which was the case with Duo.

"So, when Hilde asks where I got the ring…?" he began.

I shrugged. "Tell her the truth if you want."

"The truth," he mused, still smiling with secret knowledge out at the planes being loaded up and prepped for flight. "I've been claimed."

"As well," I responded, lifting my other hand to my chest and rubbing my fingers over the pendant I wore beneath my shirt. I know Duo saw the motion because he sighed with equal measures of contentment and satisfaction… and, when I looked his way, he was still smiling.

* * *

NOTES:

I have no idea if the 2004 iPods had batteries (like cell phones) that could be changed out. In this AU they did, because Duo needs to get the combination to his mom's safe somehow and the inside of the iPod battery cover would be the perfect place for her to write it out for him.

As I mentioned before, the Barton Troupe doesn't generally get involved in the nastiness of war and armed conflict. This includes torture and interrogation although I've implied that Trowa knows a thing or two about conducting both. (Or perhaps what to expect if he is ever captured by the enemy.) I'm bringing this up here because, originally, when Trowa looked up the websites on safe sex that Sally recommended, I wrote this:

_Ja, I'd heard of men being… injured, but those had all been instances of rape, usually during times of war or in prison. The whole point of that sort of assault was to inflict pain, to dehumanize, to demean. Thank God I'd been taken in by Captain Barton: the troupe never got involved in that kind of nastiness. Our experience and pay grade had put us well above all that._

_So, while I'd known that men could be injured by other men, I hadn't known that it could happen even between lovers, but it could. It so easily could._

I ended up taking it out because: (1) I think it's unnecessary and a bit of a mood-killer in the story, and (2) the real issue that's holding Trowa and Duo back from this last big step has nothing to do with non-consensual sex or physical injury. (This will be explained later.) I've included this little outtake in my notes for those of you who are interested in the intricacies of the Barton Troupe's work and Trowa's past experiences with them.

* * *

Bliksem = used in this chapter as a curse: that bliksem (i.e., bastard) Khushrenada

Brak = a mongrel dog


End file.
